


A Thousand and One Songs of Ice and Fire

by MaarioNaharis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Lyanna Is Alive, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Bromance, Character Study, Community: valar-morekinks, Complicated Relationships, Dark Comedy, Drabble, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fade to Black, Family Secrets, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Gendry is a Baratheon, Goodbyes, Heartbreak, Idiots in Love, Implied Relationships, Internal Conflict, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Parody, Pining, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Prince Gendry, Prompt Fill, R plus L equals J, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tension, Time Skips, True Love, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Weird Fluff, Weird Plot Shit, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 214
Words: 232,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaarioNaharis/pseuds/MaarioNaharis
Summary: A series of things that could've happened, that should've happened, that would've happened (some may still happen) ... but never came to pass





	1. The Son of Winter (Jon/Alys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU  
> Alys Karstark is Rickard Karstark's only heir and must find a proper suitor for her

Rickard Karstark had a hard gaunt face yet he would often spoil her silly. But like many lords and fathers, she knew that her father desperately wanted (and needed) a male heir to secure Karhold. It wasn’t with a lack of trying though. Her mother would have given her brothers but one had died while still in her belly while the other two died in the cradle.

Her uncle Arnolf had first made the suggestion to her father to wed her to her to her cousin Arthor’s son Harald. So that the Karstark name and line be kept intact. But she and her father quickly declined. Her father stated that if he finds no other suitors. She did not want to wed Harald, not because of him being ten years her senior but also there were rumours going around that he’s a pillow biter.

She travelled with her father to find strong prospective northern suitors.  
The first place they went to was Last Hearth. Lord Umber seemed an amiable man. But calmly told them that he could not allow his second son Benjen Umber to wed her. No more than he can allow his heir Jon to marry her. Both men were tall in stature, Lord Umber’s heir seemed to still be growing taller for a man of seven-and-ten years. Last Hearth is closer to the Wall than any other Northern castle; so he could not in good consciousness allow him to wed her, in case something were to happen to his eldest. ‘Twas a shame.  
The next place was Oldcastle. Lord Mallador Locke had proposed that she wed a nephew of his; Donnel or Ryam. Both of whom were noted and proud warriors. She had to admit that Ryam is handsome. But his slender figure, smooth skin, and relatively boyish looks makes her doubt whether he is truly a warrior or trying to play a mummer’s farce. Nonetheless, he is able to prove himself as he faced off against her father for her hand. But soon he can a bit too concerned for any marks her father left on him. The dandy.

* * *

After consulting what felt like nearly every house in the North from the Umbers to the Liddles, they went off to Winterfell to take part in the harvest feast. But if she knew her father like she did, he would likely be inquiring about Lord Eddard’s youngest children. She remembered him talking about renewing the ties between the Starks and the Karstarks. Meaning she would likely have to wait until she is a wrinkly old maid with sunken teats for either little Bran or Rickon to wed her.

As she made her way around, she suddenly heard the strong hard clashing of blades. The older one looked rather plain-faced and a part of the household guard. It was the boy fighting him she took notice of. He has a lean build, with dark brown hair and grey eyes so dark they border on black. He is graceful and quick; his fighting is almost like a dance taunting his opponent. His face like Lord Eddard’s; long, solemn and guarded—a face that gives nothing away.  
“Keep up your footwork, Jon!! Keep practicing and you might end up garbed with a white cloak of the Kingsguard!”  
“It’ll be the black cloak of the Night’s Watch for me, Jory!”

Suddenly, they both took note of her. Both of them then bowing; muttering “my lady”. The lithe youth named Jon still bowed. Jory Cassel – she now remembered as the Captain of Guards – helped up the boy. “You lost your senses, Jon? Or trying to hide your blushing face?” he jested.

He did look like he was blushing or on the verge to. He then took her hand and kissed it. “My lady, please excuse my discourtesy”

“It is nothing of note. And please, call me Alys. No Lady Alys Karstark. And you are ... Jon …”

“Jon Snow, my lady”

Jon Snow. She remembered how her father once talked about him. The bastard son of Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall. Supposedly, he was the absolute pride of the North; his sword skills comparable to his famous uncle Ser Arthur Dayne. Many northern lowborn and highborn had come to call him the Sword of the North.

 _He’s beautiful_. Now she feels her face going flush with red. He could easily be her husband. An impeccable bloodline, he wouldn’t have his own land, he could take my name and my lands would be ours.

It seemed almost like magic had come back into the world when her father had told her that was the match he made for her. “Seems a good sober lad. He’s undoubtedly Ned’s boy. He’ll treat you right” Harald will likely be miffed.

* * *

In a short matter, they began to spend time together. While uncomfortable at first, he gradually began to open up to her. His smile could cut like a dagger if he wanted it to. Those hard grey eyes were now as soft as fog. She would tell tales on her trickeries and mummeries in Karhold and he told her of his adventures in Winterfell and the number of people he had to kick in the dirt when they challenged him. SmallJon Umber, Ryam and Donnel Locke, Black Donnel Flint, Morgan Liddle.

When they tried to talk, she quickly took note of a messy-looking brown-haired girl with the same grey eyes as Jon looking at them behind a crate or something. At first she ignored her, but it quickly grew irritating. When she told Jon, he wryly chuckled. “My little sister must be worried for me.” She never had a sibling before but she can clearly see the love between the two was stronger than an ironwood shield.

* * *

There is nothing she had ever wanted ‘til then. That is until he showed up with his strong lord father, Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Waymar is handsome, graceful and slender, with grey eyes. He quickly looked at her like she was prey. “My lady, you may be the loveliest maiden in the north”

Waymar quickly tried to move in on her; practically cornering her. She had heard that he was to be sent to the Night’s Watch. A third son wanting glory of his own. He’s found something else in place of glory it seems. Why win glory when he could get his hands on my lands?

His breath felt hot on her neck. “I heard that you’re to be married to a bastard. No lady lovely as you should be wasted on a bastard! It’s inconceivable!”

“I’m not sure who’s the real bastard, Ser Waymar. You or Jon!”

She quickly took notice of Jon who had been walking by. Did he hear me? Did he believe I insulted him?

“Ser Waymar! Your lord father is looking for you!”

“Oh, so you’re the Stark bastard who’s to marry this beauty? Still a waste. You’re an ugly little thing. I still can’t believe that my father wants me to rut about with your kind”

“Funny. I thought of saying the same to you. The Black Brothers of the Wall may not be so lucky to have you”

Ser Waymar might be stupider than Lord Stark’s ward; Theon Greyjoy. And thrice as arrogant. Nearly everyone in Winterfell and the Royce’s party came to look see the fight between them. A Bronze Bastard in her eyes and the Sword of the North.

Lord Eddard looked pensive whereas Lord Yohn Royce looked embarrassed to say the least. Robb and Arya Stark looked worried for Jon. Sansa looked conflicted but was likely rooting for handsome Ser Waymar.

All of them rather worried. Waymar in his arrogance pronounced at the end of the duel, only one would go to the Wall and the winner would get her hand in marriage. _Like I’d marry that arse.  
Please, please win Jon!_

“This ought to be interesting. Let’s see how the famed Sword of the North fares against a true knight!”

"I'd rather name you Ser Waymar Stone if this is how a knight is to behave. You couldn't be any truer than if it begins to snow in Dorne"

Suddenly, Waymar Royce pursed his lips together. “You think you're better than me, Snow? How about you prove yourself? Royce's always remember. And I'll certainly remember crushing Snow underneath my boots”

Both readily got into a steady position; staring each other down.

"Won’t matter who’s going to the Wall. You’ll still be the Snow of Winterfell!"

“I’m no less a bastard than you are, Ser Stone!”

Waymar charged in head first. He moves quite gracefully but his swings are heavy. Jon is quicker though. Their swords begin to clash furiously. Neither one of them wanted to back down. Jon pressed his blade down, tightening his grip. Waymar pushed back and tried to give him a backhanded strike but Jon easily parried it. Waymar suddenly tried to cut his face but only cut the air

 _This is no longer a matter of pride; he's trying to Jon!_ Jon then aimed for his swordhand, slicing around it and cut at it. Waymar quickly kicked him in the knee and tried to hack off Jon’s head but he quickly rolled away. Jon quickly struck Waymar’s face with the flat of his blade, sending him back a foot. Ser Waymar quickly began to hack at Jon wildly but he kept parrying blow for blow.

Jon then struck at his arm hard enough for Waymar to wince in pain that he easily knocked off his sword. Jon then knocked him to the ground and placed the sword by his neck

“Do you yield?"  
Waymar said nothing but simply breathed as heavy as a snow bear.  
"Do you yield?"  
"... Yes"

She quickly rushed out to Jon’s aide. Before she could help clean him, Lord Royce approached him. “It’s quite surprising someone as strong and true as you, my boy, hadn’t had the chance to be knighted. Hopefully, you’ve knocked some sense into that foolhardy boy of mine. I do ask for your forgiveness for his foolishness”

“There’s nothing to forgive my lord”

“Why’d you go and fight him, stupid?! He would’ve killed you!” Arya nearly shouted as she helped her clean his face; which was marred with dirt and grime.

“He insulted my honour and nearly disgraced Alys.” Jon then turned to her. “Are you alright, my lady?”

Silly boy, you’re the one who’s hurt yet you worry for me. “Of course I’m alright. As will you be” She then quickly gave him a peck on the cheek which made him go red.

“UGH!! YUCK!!”

* * *

It was strange. The sound of it on his tongue was still strange after all this time.  
Jon Karstark. He knew he could never truly be a Stark. But this had been unexpected.

Alys was undeniably beautiful. Neat brown hair woven into a braid. Her blue-grey eyes the colour of the bay of the Frozen Shore. And he knew that he would love her with all his heart. Fight for her if need be.

When he heard the news that she was with child, he couldn’t bear it. His children would not be Snows; they would be strong and brave and beautiful.

Maester Tybald finally came out of the chambers. “Lord Jon. Lady Alys has requested your presence.”

He quickly entered her chambers. She still managed to look strong and beautiful despite having given birth to his child. But he quickly takes note of two bundles in her arms.

“I had thought to surprise you my lord”

As he tried to hold on to one, Alys somehow knew what he was thinking. “The one on my left is our heir, my lord”

The eyes that stared back at him were as grey as his own. A small squeal then filled the room with such a happiness he could never have felt in a long time. “Hello, Eddard”

“It’s a good name.  A strong northern name. Then I’ll name this one Harrion. For the brother, I would have had.”

Eddard and Harrion Karstark will be as strong as the man who raised him. They will be the sons of winter.


	2. A Tattered Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany had no inkling why anyone would call him Frog. Perhaps he can jump farther than the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ragged raiment? A poor thing … yet those tatters fill my foes with fear, and on the battlefield the sight of my rags blowing in the wind emboldens my men more than any banner. And if I want to move unseen, I need only slip it off to become plain and unremarkable

It still hurt.  


He could feel every inch of it. Even while he lay down on the cold ground, his mind would go back to that day. 

I should have died. Arch and Drink told me it was folly. 

Yet, twas a miracle that he did not die. But burnt badly. His short legs, his midriff, his arm. The flames had spread almost everywhere, killing several Brazen Beasts and a few Windblown.

It must have been luck. 

Or something else. That Tattered Rogue seemed to want it and had been more than eager to accompany them. Twas his own crossbow bolt that shot at the dragon. His own folly lead to his own death,

By Drink's quick thinking and his own, he had been able to take off the rogue's multi-coloured cloak. When he had said that his own appearance was unremarkable, he found it hard to believe. He likely hid a still handsome but lined face yet his face was quite like his own. Ordinary. Unremarkable. 

As the dragon's made their escape, he quickly managed to grip on the white dragon's leg and leave. 

Father and Lord Anders oft tried to teach him the ways of honourable men and live like one. 

But there is no honour in this world. 

His father told him that fire and blood will be brought to Westeros. Justice. 

But there is no justice in this world. I cannot bring justice. 

I will make justice. 


	3. In Heaven (Gendry/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were supposed to play Seven Minutes in Heaven, and it certainly felt like it

"Alright, alright. It's the birthday girl's turn now!!" her brother Loras shouted. 

This is nerve-racking. It could land on anyone. Just spin the bottle and hope. 

So, she gripped it and then spun. 

_Please, not Lancel Lannister. He's become such a septon lately. Or maybe he's praying to kiss me? He'll probably start a seven-minute lecture on propriety._

_Gods above, please land on Robb or Jon Stark. If she lands on Robb, she knows that Sansa, who's her best mate will start writing RobbxMargie on her notebook. Not that she wouldn't mind._   
_Though, Robb does seem like a bit of an obvious choice, she had to admit that Jon Stark is a rather handsome lad._

_If it lands on cousin Desmera, she knows that everyone is gonna beg for more. Probably start shouting "LESBOS! LESBOS! LESBOS!"_

_DEFINITELY not Joffrey Baratheon or Ramsay Bolton. Both of them have creep etched into their faces. So hard to believe how the lively handsome Domeric could have such a ... grotesque for a brother._

Finally, the bottle stopped spinning, and landed on Gendry fucking Massey. Very tall and _very_ muscled, the pride and joy of the King's Landing rugby and lacrosse team. Armed with bright blue eyes and thick, black hair, he almost looks like the man of her dreams she often envisioned when she was a girl. Like a knight in shining armour. 

The next thing she knows is everyone clamoring around them and practically shoving her and Gendry to the life-sized closet. As she inched herself closer to him, she noticed him back away a bit. That's a bit annoying.

"Well?" Margaery asked him with her hands on her hips.

"Well, what?" Gendry asked.

"This is seven minutes in heaven. Are you going to kiss me or not?" She prompted. Those were the rules after all. And she honestly wouldn't mind kissing Gendry. Mayhaps he minded? Does he swing the other way like Loras does? He could **literally** be in the closet.

"Do you ... want me to kiss you?" He asked hesitantly.

"Well, yes! Maybe.  ... Not exactly, but those are the rules. We're supposed to kiss." She explained.

"I'm not gonna go and just kiss a girl if she doesn't really want me to." He replied.

For a guy who looked to have more muscle than brains, she never would have thought him to be a gentleman. "Aren't you worried about being teased?" Margaery inquired. She had to admit that it was quite sweet that he wouldn't kiss her unless she told him yes, but most boys liked to brag about who they'd kissed as soon as they came out. And anything else they might've done. If they didn't say anything, they got ragged on.

"No, not really. I'd rather be teased for doing the right thing, than celebrate doing something wrong."

Margaery had played this game plenty of times before, and no one, not _one_ boy, had ever asked her if she wanted to kiss them. They all just jumped on her the minute they were inside a dark empty closet. Desperately shoving their tongues down her throat. But the sheer fact that he asked was undeniably the sweetest thing she'd ever heard.

"Gendry. Could you close your eyes for me?" She told him, and he did.

When she leaned in and gently kissed his lips, he startled and opened his eyes.

"You're sweet." She told him. "Like, undeniably sweet"

"Yeah, um, thanks I guess." He said, a smile tugging at his mouth. Margaery smiled back and grabbed his hand.

He then used his other hand to gently cup her chin. Instinctively, she leaned into him for another kiss. 

This time, it was more heated. She grabbed his face and practically started to shove _her_ tongue down _his_ throat. 

She practically leapt and held on to his neck for support while he placed his hands on her hips. Sweetly moving his lips from her lips to the nape of her neck. 

"Hey, Margie. Time's up!" someone shouted. 

_Damnit! Has it really been seven minutes?!_


	4. Intentions (Jon/Arianne, Ashara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't want her little boy hurt

This was weird. Like undeniably weird. 

She had known Arianne since she was a girl of five years old. That adorable girl who got into trouble with her innocent-looking cousin Tyene.   
_Back when she was actually innocent and couldn't hide behind a feint of innocence._

Arianne always tended to attract the wrong type of people. Andrey Dalt was a fairly nice boy and one that they all would approve of.  
Her distant cousin Gerrold had bad news written all over his face, even without that cheesy nickname he gave himself.   
Everyone knew the actual reason why she and Cletus Yronwood were dating. If anyone could call it that really.   
Garin was nothing more than a childhood fancy.   
Daemon and her together seemed to cause more destruction than happiness.   
Arys was a gentleman and they likely would have married ... had his name not been Oakheart. 

But this was her boy. Her little boy. 

What was more troubling? The fact that her son is dating someone who is just about seven-years older than him and even babysat him a couple of times? Or the fact that she caught them having sex on the living room couch?

Gods, I want to put salt in my eyes right now so I could try to burn away that mental image. How she was straddling him like a ... no, can't think of that. Need to douse my eyes with drainage cleaner. 

Why couldn't he just stick with any of the other girls he dated before?

Ygritte was a pretty wild girl. Despite not being conventionally pretty, she and Jon were quite taken with each other. Sweet, young, first loves.   
Val was a little more tame than Ygritte but still an adventurous spirit.   
There was no way she wanted Doreah Rogare anywhere near Jon.   
Alys was a very nice girl if not a bit cheeky from time to time.   
Asha Greyjoy was so abrasive she thought that there would be a DV call one day in the future.  
A part of her actually missed him dating Tyene ... no, wait a minute, no.   
Daenerys was undeniably lovely in looks and personality.  
Talla Tarly was a pretty girl and his best friend's sister. That's every man's dream!

Why? Why on earth did Arianne friggin Martell have to go after Jon?

* * *

As she laid on the couch, tired from her day at the office, she heard the doorbell ring. 

Who could it be? Jon would have likely sent a text that he forgot his keys. Her nephew Edrick would not be coming back home so early. And Arthur and Allyria wouldn't come back from work, not in two more ours at least.

"Ashara? May I please come in?" 

Arianne. 

She slowly opens the door, eyeing her as she does. "Please, come in, sweetheart," she says plastering possibly the most fake smile on her face. 

Arianne awkwardly placed herself on the couch. 

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's never a bad time, sweetheart? Something on your mind? Penny for your thoughts?"

"Is, um, is Jon here by any chance?"

"No. He's still on campus. Hard to believe he's _just_ started college"

"Right."

"And you're so close to graduating!"

Suddenly, she feels stupid for being so undeniably petty and annoying. The look on Arianne's face is etched with something she hasn't seen in a long time.

Guilt. She hasn't seen that look since the day she totaled her family's limo in a drunken attempt to go to the MacDonald's drive-thru. 

"Look, I know what you're thinking."

"Please, Arianne, please tell me what I'm thinking"

"You think I'm just gonna sleep with him and be done with him. A-A hit it and quit it situation. But it's not, honest. D-Did Jon even tell you how we met ... again and officially?"

"... Not really. I had told him to go to his room and stay there until he graduates from college."

"Jon was studying and taking up books from the campus library while I was busy writing my doctoral dissertation. It had been a really long time that I had a meaningful conversation with a guy that wasn't followed by "Wanna do it in the parking lot?". It was nice."

Now, she paused a bit feeling a bit more like an idiot. 

"We've actually been going out for about two months. And I was the one who told him not to tell you. You, Dad and everyone else knows who I've dated and the end result.  
But the thing is I ... I really like Jon. I like him and I honestly think I can see a future with him"

Now, Arianne just reminded herself of the time she was imagining all those things with Ned. _Oh, Ned. Where did the time go? When and how did things fuck up so badly?_

"Arianne. It's not just your ... history with men. Yo-Your future is in front of you! You're getting your PhD and Jon's just started to get his bachelor's degree. Not to mention you're seven years older than him an - "

"So, it's more about the age difference between us?"

"No, that's not it" But it did bother her a bit. But Ashara was no different. She was five years older than Ned when they had first met. 

"Then what is it, Ashara?"

"I don't want him getting hurt!!" she practically shouts that it scares even her. 

"Arianne. I have known you since you were a girl. I've watched you do numerous dumb things, dumber than I have done in my life. Now, I've come to watch you blossom into a beautiful headstrong woman with a bright future.  
I've raised Jon with Arthur and Ned's help. I've sung him to sleep, kissed his bruises, rocked him in my arms whenever he got upset. And his love life kinda sucks. His first girlfriend died in a car accident. One was what I believe to be a mutual break-up, one that was absolutely necessary, and another one go away to parts unknown for a better life. I've seen his heart broken so much. And a little part of me breaks when I see tears staining his beautiful eyes"

I'm crying. Damn it, I'm actually crying. 

"You'll understand when you're a mother one day."

"Take it from someone who's actually had her heart broken a couple of times too, I wouldn't dare dream of breaking Jon's heart"

She then feels strong arms embracing her. 

"I just have one more thing to tell you, Ari"

"What's that?"

"If I catch you fucking on the couch or anywhere else, I'll gut you"


	5. Memory Lane (Ned/Ashara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU  
> Ned has a different dream in his delirious state

He dreamt an old dream, clear and vivid as things once were.

It was the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again. Down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. 

He remembered the laughter of his wild elder brother Brandon and Robert's berserk valor in the melee, how he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right.

He remembered Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armour, kneeling on the grass of the king's pavillion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. 

The sudden burst of another memory came forth. A woman most lovely with raven-haired tresses and enchanting purple eyes. 

Even with the years, leeching at his memory, he could never rid himself of an image of beauty like hers. 

The dancing between them was sweet if not a bit awkward and clumsy on his part. Her bright laughter still rang loud in his head after all this time. 

Everything then changed to the sounds of a small river and the smell of pines. 

Ashara's lithe form looming over him. Her soft lips placing a small kiss on his shoulder blade. Her small deft and delicate hands gently nuzzling on his broadening chest. Their clothes nearly gone. 

Suddenly, the movements between them becoming more and more frenzied. Her neat locks now in wild disarray. Her nipples now pert in the passing chill. The slapping sounds of their flesh becoming louder and the only sound filling the godswood. 

"Ned. Ned. Ned" she whispered like a prayer. His hands gripping her hips as tightly as possible. 

A small but loud moan came out of her mouth. 

"Ned. Ned. Lord Ned. Eddard"

Suddenly, the image and memory of Ashara was replaced with one he was all to familiar with. Her coppery-red tresses looking as if kissed by fire. Bright blue eyes staring back at him with lust.

"Eddard. Eddard."

Her hips moving more frantically and her hands moved to his chest to steady herself. 

The voice then changed from his lover, to his wife's than to a man's voice. "Lord Eddard", a man echoed from the dark. 

Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand. 

"Lord Eddard?" A shadow stood over his bed. 

Gods be good, allow me to enter the realm of dreams again.

"Your pardon, Your Grace"


	6. Forlorn (Tommen & Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always felt empty after visiting Storms End and its lord and would always think "He should have been my brother, not Joffrey"

All of this was so, so strange. 

Once upon a time, he had simply been a Prince. Then, he had become a king and married to the most beautiful woman in the world;

Then everything went to hell. For his mother at least, who had become the Mad Queen. Threatening the burn anyone she didn't like and anyone who disagreed with her. 

Now, he was the Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the East by decree of Queen Daenerys; at the behest of his uncle Tyrion. 

And he was no longer Tommen Baratheon. No, now he is Tommen Lannister. 

He often left his duties to his cousins. Uncle Tyrion certainly had more of mind for lordly duties, but he was doing his duty to the Queen and her King as Hand. 

Whenever he would go off to train with cousin Devan, he always mentioned how he's moving like his Uncle Jaime. 

Uncle Jaime. It made him sad to think of him. Had it not been for his quick thinking, he may not have survived. 

Yet, he hadn't spent much of his time in Casterly Rock. The Red Keep did not feel like home yet he seldom felt like calling the Rock his home. 

Storm's End was where he had spent most of his time; visiting the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. 

Gendry and he had met when they swore their allegiance to Queen Daenerys. He seldom heard about the famed Outlaw Lord, who became the leader of the Brotherhood without Banners. Barely a man, and he had gone on and taken the Crossing; rallying help from the smallfolk and the neighboring lords. 

He remembered having met him once long ago, when he asked for a small dagger. Father - their father - wouldn't take him himself and he had been brought to the Street of Steel with Ser Arys Oakheart. He asked why he would a boy his age need a dagger for. "F-For protection," he said. He didn't know why he told him, he never met him but something about him seemed comforting. 

 _"I wish to learn to fight. To protect myself. ... I don't want Joffrey to hurt me"_  
_"Prince Joffrey?"_  
_"Um, ... yes"_  
_"Well, Prince Joffrey does seem like a rightful shit to me"_

_"You are speaking to the Prince's brother, good man!" Ser Arys chastised him. But he had laughed._

The Stormlands had not been his home but it felt more comforting. The sound of the rain pelting the ground. Even the crackling thunder which once scared him as a child. 

Gendry would never turn him away. He always seemed to have a welcome smile when he came, even when it was abrupt. They often trained with each other. The captain of guards would show them proper archery. The lord of Starfall and his wife would often spar with them as well. Lady Elia Dayne was just as fierce as Lady Arya Stark. Never truly Baratheon; she did not like being called that and Gendry was fine with it. 

Both of them were almost of the same cloth; now lords of lands that were thrust upon them. 

Whenever he left, he always felt a small void where his heart is. The only good thing waiting for him at the Rock was Margaery, who was now swelling with his child.

Myrcella would often visit whenever she could. 

But he would always feel emptier whenever he left Storm's End.

Sometimes, his mind would wander to Gendry. Wondering why he was not his older brother. The older brother he wanted; the one thing he would ask the Seven but never got. 

_He should have been my family, not Joffrey._


	7. Pain of Sorrow (Elia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a… certain name… when they came for her.”

She felt more horrified than the time Ashara once tried to goad her into jumping into the waters from the top of the Palestone Sword. 

A giant mountain of a man and a portly pig-man coming into her chambers. 

One can only hope that they are reinforcements. But that is foolish. She knows why they are here. 

Please, Old Gods and New, please protect my children.

"NONONONONONONO!!!!!!!"

Rhaenys is dragged out from underneath Rhaegar's bed. Her tiny arms and legs flailing about. 

"PAPA, PAPA HELP! PAPA PLEASE HELP!!" 

"Your daddy ain't here, little dragonspawn. Your daddy's dead!!" the pig-faced man practically sneers at us both. Coupled with his high-pitched voice, it makes him sound like a demon of the Seven Hells. 

With one swift motion, he grabbed her by her leg. He took out the dirk so fast, she barely even saw it. 

The hall was now filled with the pain-filled screams of her little girl. The screaming had instantly woke Aegon. 

"Stupid babe," the mountainous man said. Suddenly, inching toward her. 

"No. No, please. Please, please don't do this. Please don't harm my son!!"

He quickly took him from her arms, surprisingly holding him with such gentleness. 

"Seems to be a good boy." 

With another swift motion, he quickly puts his large gnarled hand on his head and slams him onto the wall. 

She can't do anything but scream from the shock and horror of it all. 

"Was a good boy"

_Not my boy. Not my son!!_

All of a sudden, a rage she had never felt before courses through her blood. She begins to hit him with all of her might. Hoping and praying that he would feel the level of hurt she is feeling right now. 

But he looks at her with those cold cruel eyes, like nothing had ever hurt him and could never hurt him. 

Suddenly, she feels a hot slap across her cheek and then those same gnarled hands, still full with the blood of her babe, throw her to the floor. Just as she tried to get back up, she feels those same hands, pushing up her skirt and gripping her by her hips. 

The very feel of him inside her is absolutely disgusting. Frenzied as he forced himself deep into her. 

Someone help!!

Uncle Lewyn first came to mind. Tall as a tower, with a sweet-soft voice and kind weathered face. He even tried to teach her to wield a spear until her mother caught wind of it. 

Oberyn was the second person to come. Her valiant foolhardy brother who vowed to be by her side. His eyes gleaming with such mischievousness.

The last person who came to mind that would help was certainly not her husband. She knew why he did what he did but she did not want his help.

Arthur. Arthur, who had been her friend long before he had been Rhaegar's confidante. Who squired under her uncle. The bright-eyed squire who vowed before them all that he would be the truest knight of all. Whose lips were the first one's she had kissed, and he in turn. Who vowed to always protect her and be her knight no matter the odds. 

Where are you, Arthur?!

"ARTHUR!!!!!"

Suddenly, she felt her head slam into the cold marble, and the whole world turning as black as pitch


	8. Among Foxes (Stannis/Delena/, Robert/Selyse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert gets too drunk and ends up fucking the wrong Florent girl, leading Stannis to wed Lady Delena Florent

He had almost wanted to laugh. Gods, the entire situation was fairly laughable. 

Robert always had a penchant for slighting him in any way he could.  
His constant teasing that he would never be as strong as him. How he would never gain any glory, but he did not truly care for it. How he denied him Storm's End and granted the lands and titles to his prancing brother Renly. 

Stannis should feel slighted to say the least but he doesn't really. He had always done his duty whereas Robert had often done his best to ignore it. The one bit of work he had always done. 

Lady Selyse had initially been promised to Lord Leyton Hightower, and instead Robert and Jon Arryn stated that he should wed her. While he is not one for vanity, he had to admit that she was not a particularly attractive woman. She is as tall as him, thin, and has the Florent trait of too-large ears. Selyse has pale eyes, a sharp nose, and a growth of hair on her upper lip.

He knows that he is not the most handsome man in the world, but he had to admit that someone would have to be a fool to _want_ to bed Selyse Florent.

Had it not been for Robert being in his cups and bedding her, he'd be stuck with her. Mayhaps she was in her cups as well to have willingly gone into bed with Robert. She did not strike him as one to have do anything willingly with her whip-like voice. 

"By the Gods, Stannis! How in the Seven Hells did I bed her?!" Robert said, miffed and horrified by the sheer fact of having bedded her. 

While he did say words to pledge his love for her, he probably wouldn't love her. He was nowhere near as miffed or horrified that his bride had gone off with his brother while he acted courteous enough to invite her cousin for a dance. He did feel a small ounce of betrayal but nothing more. 

Lord Leyton was kind enough to take Lady Selyse in spite of the debacle. He had been promised a Florent wife before, but Lady Rhea had been married off to Ser Talbert Serry.

Lady Delena was more than kind enough to accept the newly formed proposal. And arguably, more attractive than Selyse. A head or two shorter than him, kind pale eyes, round-faced and well-rounded figure. It was only the day after for his original wedding yet a part of him so wanted to grin and laugh at Robert's face for the first time in his life. Gloat that he had not done such a stupid thing as Robert had done. 

But as always, he had done his duty. And he stood at the sept and said the words to his new wife. 


	9. In A Name (Sansa/Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She oft imagines how sweet her name would sound from his lips. But she can't for she must be Alayne

She had often wondered what on earth it was supposed to be like; to lay with someone. 

Mother and Septa Mordane had often told her that it is to occur only between a husband and wife. But she knows now that there are vile men who would have their way with women, no matter what. 

Septa Mordane once told her that if anyone other than your lord husband was to take her maidenhead, than it means that the woman is ruined. That the woman has brought shame and dishonour to her family and her house. 

They lied, they must have. After a weary day, her husband would often kiss her sweetly and chastely as possible. Her new husband. 

Sansa Stark had wed Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock against her wishes in the Sept of Baelor. Alayne Stone had wed Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill within the safety of Ser Brynden Blackwood's godswood. Although dead, the weirwood is colossal and can be seen from leagues away. 

 _Nothing that feels so good could possibly ruin you_ , she thought as Gendry sheathed himself in her to the hilt. His hands at her hips, shamelessly grinding against his own, her breasts falling up and down as she moved against him. The sound of their flesh slapping together and the rhythm of their movements together was a far more beautiful song than the ones she fell in love with. 

Her husband was not a lord, but he was undoubtedly one of the most truest knights she had ever known. Unlike the upjumped cutthroats that made up Joffrey's Kingsguard, he at least tried to live up to his knightly vows. Lem trained with him day in and day out when he wasn't tending to her and the young orphaned boys and girls. Often making sure that she was okay and that no one had harmed her when he would go out patrolling the Riverlands with Anguy, Lem, Tom and the others. 

Oldstones was a little more hospitable with the help of the remnants of the Brotherhood without Banners. The stone that surrounded the keep was now mostly made of strong pale-coloured stones. Not much of a home but it is a start. Their own chambers are small but quaint and cozy. And they could keep each other warm at night. She loved the feel of his large hands holding her close to his person. 

Kind, gentle and undeniably good. She should have listened to her father long ago. But that was when she was a stupid girl by the name of Sansa Stark. She was still Sansa Stark when she left the Vale when learning that the person who had protected her so far aimed to kill her sickly cousin. Sansa was gone and only Alayne remained. 

Every time they would lay together, Gendry would make sure to touch her everywhere. Every piece of exposed skin, how good it felt as he roamed his hands all along her body. Or his lips kissing and licking her pert nipples. 

It's beyond aggravating. She never had trouble saying Gendry's name any other time; it's not even a particularly complicated name! But somehow when he's touching her like this - when his fingers skim the seam of her smallclothes and his nose finds the sensitive hollow behind her ear - she can't seem to manage it. She'll start out reasonably well, but then it will trail off into high, strained sound,  _Gendr-ohhh_. Sometimes she won't even get that far, emitting only a strained  _Guh_  before she loses her power of speech entirely and can only clutch at his shoulders as he strokes over her, circling and teasing, stoking her like his forge and making her blood burn just as hot.

"GOOD GODS, GENDR-AAHH!!" 

"ALAYNE!!" 

Absentmindedly, she stroked his now sweaty back while he gently breathed against her neck. The sweat from their coupling now strangely mingling and trickling down her thigh which was getting sticky from his seed. He then gently stroked the underside of her left breast and kissed her.

"Alayne. Oh, Gods Alayne. I love you. I love you so much."  
"I love you too, Gendry. My love"

That always seemed to stab at her heart. How she was still Alayne, and how that was the name he called her and the name he howled when he spilled his seed inside her.  

She wants to tell him that Sansa is the one he loves, for that is her true name. But that would make everything they have built together a lie. And he had been nothing but truthful with her. She oft imagines how sweet her name would sound from his lips. But she can't for she must be Alayne. She must be this stranger.


	10. Healing (Gendry/Jeyne H.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all need time to heal

The Brotherhood had actually done it. They had taken the Twins with the help of a skeleton crew in Riverrun that had remained loyal to the Tullys. Once that had been done, they had gone on to liberate Seagard from the remaining control of the Freys. 

Everyone had been cheering on as the Brotherhood had proven themselves. Now the other houses of the riverlands had come to rally their forces around them. The Mallisters were quick to join them for the debt of life they now owe. The Blackwoods quickly followed suit, and the other houses gradually came to their side offering whatever support they could muster. 

But there was only one member of the Brotherhood she cared for. The tall dark-haired, blue-eyed smith who aspired to be the bravest and truest knight since Ser Duncan the Tall. _"He and I have much in common. Both of us runts of Flea Bottom. If someone from there could earn a knighthood, and be a true knight and eventually become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Then, I dunno, I could be something close to that._ " That was what he told her when she asked about the sword he was making for himself. 

 _"Here, you should take this then. Every true knight needs a helm."_ She handed him a helm with a likeness of a scaled demon atop it, slavering. It had belonged to one of her ancestors, Black Tom Heddle. _"I-I can't take this, Jeyne."_ Yet she persisted and insisted.   
_"There you are now, you look like a ... Demon of the Trident!"_

Jeyne then heard the thundering sound of hoof-beats. Lem was leading them, still bearing the infamous helm of the Hound, making him just as terrifying as him. Beside him was Anguy, who was bearing a strange helm he found at Harrenhal; bearing the likeness of a goat. Lord Edrick, whom her sister Willow was fond of but would never say, was by the side of the archer. Tom, Jack O'Nutten, Dennett, The Mad Huntsman. Where is he?

Suddenly, the burst through the door. "Someone. Anyone a maester? A healer? Anybody?! We need help!!" Lord Edrick screeched out. _Please, Gods, no_. But it was true to say the least. In one arm, Gendry was desperately clutching on to the helm she given him while he had a deep gash on his chest; bleeding onto the floor. Meribald, the hunched maester, then came to his side. He then called for some turpentine, egg yolks and a bottle of wine to help treat his wounds. She quickly followed suit with him to help. 

"Are you his lady love, my dear?" he said kindly but a smirk soon followed. Did he suspect something?

"Um, no, Not his lady love. But I care for him deeply and my sister loves him like a brother". Much of that had been true. Willow positively adored Gendry, and whenever he was not within earshot, she would goad her to kiss him and confess her feelings. 

Jeyne took the wine, a candle, a needle and tread and a dagger given to her (by Gendry) and sat down facing him. Meribald used the candle to heat up one side of the dagger; as the blade heated up, she soaked a cloth in wine and used it to clean the area around. Once the blade was red, Meribald had gone on and pressed it against the wound. Gendry let out a guttural howl of pain as the blade cauterized the injury. Once that was done, Jeyne wiped the area again and put the needle and thread in the wine as well; carefully sewing up the gash.

"This boy may be the most truest knight or the most foolish. Either way, he showed tremendous bravery." Meribald said.   
"Yes, yes he has" she said with a faint smile on her lips. 

The windburnt-faced septon then gave her that same smirk from before. Am I that obvious? "I'll just leave you two to be". She sat by his side waiting for him to wake or stir at the very least for what felt like hours. His eyes suddenly woke and moved, looking around. 

"Wh-Wha's happened? Where am I?"  
"Gendry? Gendry, you're OK!!"

Suddenly, his face looked a bit sullen. Disappointed almost. Is he not happy to see me? Why would he be anyways?

"I-I'm sorry. I ruined the helm. It got a bit dented" he said. That's what he's worried about? She barely even noticed the dent when he had it in his arms. 

"I-I can fix it. I ca-"  
"You stupid silly boy. I'm just glad you're safe."

He then flashed her a smile. He hadn't done that since he came to the inn. She fell in love with his eyes first, then his conviction in being a true knight. His smile is so dazzling she nearly lost herself in it.

"The others. Lem. Anguy, Tom and ... Ned. They okay?"  
"Yes. They're fine and worrying about you. Tom promised to sing a song about you and Anguy's moaning that he's missing his best mate"  
"Willow was screeching before, for you not to die"  
"I wanted to but she kept screaming so damn loud. Damn woman wouldn't leave me in peace"

She giggled at that. Why was she seeing this whole new side of him just now? Mayhaps, he had been like this once before. Before the war had swooped in and took everything from everyone. Even if he grew up in Flea Bottom, Gendry must have had a happy life before.  

Jeyne smiled and kissed the sewed up wound. The stitches were aligned nearly perfectly. Unaware, her fingers had began running down his chest and she began to absent mindedly caress Gendry's bare upper body. His muscled form was firm and solid, not a soft spot to be found. As her fingers reached the lowest rib Gendry jerked slightly.

Did I hurt you?" Jeyne exclaimed coming out of her trance. Rather than reprimand her, Gendry gave her a small grin and shook his head. "No it just tickled a little."  
"I-I-I'm sorry," Jeyne said hurriedly. "I should not of been doing that."  
"No you're quite alright." Gendry reassured her.

Almost by sheer instinct, she leaned over and started to kiss him. She feels his lips kiss hers back and briefly jerks away from her, then looking at her as if he had struck a nerve or something. _Am I not pretty enough for you, Gendry? Is your heart tethered to someone else?_

Just as she backs way herself, she feels his hands caress the back of her head then capture her lips. She nuzzled his nose and deepened the kiss, wanting more of him. Before long they were in each other's arms, kissing, caressing, groping. Quickly and frantically, they shuck most off their clothes. She was now bare and she didn't know what to think, for Jeyne had never bore herself like this to any man at all. _Does he think my teats too small?_

She quickly lay on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her tongue rolling around his and her mound pressing down on his loins. He had her wrapped in his arms, one hand stroking her spine to the small of her back over the smooth cheeks of her arse and groped for it to press her onto his hardening cock. He lifted his head and reached for her breast with the other hand to suckle it, until she moaned with desire. She pressed him back down and he let her, his hands on her hips, while she remained seated and she looked down at him with hooded eyelids.

She bent lower to lean on her arm, while she lifted her hips and reached for his cock to guide herself down on him. She gasped as she slowly slid over him and finally took all of him in. She did not move at first. Needing time to adjust herself to this sensation. She never felt so whole; so complete. The pain was fairly minuscule from what her Aunt Masha told her. At this point, she expected her maidenhead to have been taken by brigands or rapists. No, she willingly gave it away.  _Please Gods, grant me a babe from this. A baby boy with all his father's beauty._

And then she started to rock her hips, slowly, forth and back, left and right, up and down, testing him and herself, how much she could embrace, how deep he could sheath himself in her, how far back she could lean without him slipping away. He watched her in mesmerization, unable to tear his eyes off of her, as her nipples stiffened and she swayed her head with eyes closed and half open lips. She leaned forward, leaning on her hands next to his shoulders, arching her back, her lips not far from his. He wrapped one arm around her head, lifted his head to kiss her mouth, and used his other hand to support her as she lifted her hips and came down on him again. Gendry started to follow her rhythm by thrusting his hips upwards to maximize their pleasure. It was torturous slow and straining.

She wanted to allow him all the time and thrusts she needed to come. She began to feel her muscles of her thighs tighten and clench around his cock. She gently placed her hands on his chest, curling her fingers  and clenching at it in pure ecstasy. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes closed, and her back arched. Ultimately, Gendry began to thrust and jerk upwards harder, grabbed her hips and guided her to him.  Jeyne moaned and yelped and cried out, "Yes!" repeatedly. Her small gasps evolved into whimpers, and she lunged for his mouth, swirling their tongues around, biting his lip and then cried out.

"BY THE OLD GODS AND NEW!!"  
"OH FUCK!!"

She felt exhausted and her thighs were covered in a stickiness mixed with her maiden's blood and his seed. Quickly falling upon his chest and leaving open-mouthed kisses all over while he aptly fondled her arse.

This was also she could ask for. All that she wanted. Nothing could ruin this for her. 


	11. Resentment (Stannis & Renly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU  
> Stannis' brusque and harsh words peer into Renly's heart

"Lady Stark, I didn't think I'd find you hear in the Stormlands" Stannis said.  
"I had not thought to be here" Lady Catelyn replied.  
"Is that really you?" Renly inquired.  
"Who else would it be?" Stannis replied.  
"When I saw you standing there, I couldn't be sure. Just whose banner is that?" Renly asked, pointing at the burning stag.  
"My own."  
"I suppose if we use the same one, the battle will be terribly confusing. Why is it that your stag's on fire?" Renly asked.  
"The king has taken for his sigil the fiery heart of the Lord of Light" said the strange woman beside him.  
"Ahh. Must be that fire priestess I've heard so much about. Now I understand why you found religion in your old age."  
"Watch yourself, Renly!" Stannis cried out.  
"No, no, I'm relieved really. Never believed you were a fanatic. Charmless and rigid, for sure. But not a godly man." Renly said.  
"You ought to kneel before your brother. He is the Lord's chosen champion. Born amidst salt and smoke." the Red Woman said.

"Born amidst salt and smoke. Is he a ham then?" Renly jested.  
"That's twice I've warned you!" Stannis said.  
"Listen to you all. If you were sons of mine, I'd knock your heads together and lock you in a bed chamber until you remember you were brothers" Lady Catelyn replied.  
"It's rather strange to find you right beside my brother, Lady Stark. Your husband sent a raven to me supporting my claim and his integrity cost him his head. Yet, you sit beside this pretender and chastise me." Stannis said.  
"We all share a common enemy. The Lannist - "  
"I will slay every Lannister and take the Iron Throne. It is mine by right, and all those who deny me are my enemies!" Stannis said angrily.

"All the realm denies it from Dorne to the Wall. Old men deny it with a death rattle and unborn children deny it in their mother's womb. No one wants you for their king. You never wanted any friends, brother. And a man without friends is a man without power" Renly said. There was some truth to the words of the King of Highgarden; to forge friendships with people was just the same as making an alliance with them.  
"For the sake of the mother who bore us, I'll give you this one night to reconsider. Strike your banners and come to me before dawn. I'll grant you your old seat in the counsel, and name you my heir until a son is born to me. Or I'll make an example of you as I will to the Lannisters." Stannis said, booming with anger on the last part.  
"Look across those fields, brother. See all those banners?"  
"Do you think a few bolts of cloth will make you king?" Stannis mocked.  
"No, those men holding those bolts of cloth will make me king. Tyrell swords will make me king. Rowan and Tarly and Penrose will make me king, with axe, mace, warhammer, arrows and lances. Fossoway, Cuy, Mullendore, Selmy, Hightower, Oakheart, Crane, Caswell,Blackbar, Beesbury, Shermer, Dunn, Footly. All the chivalry of the south rides with me, and that is the least part of my power. My foot is coming behind, a hundred thousand swords and spears and pikes. And you will destroy me? With what, pray? That paltry rabble I see there huddled under the castle walls? I'll call them five thousand and be generous, codfish lords and onion knights and sellswords. Half of them are like to come over to me before the battle starts. You have fewer than four hundred horse, my scouts tell me-freeriders in boiled leather who will not stand an instant against armored lances. I do not care how seasoned a warrior you think you are, Stannis, that host of yours won't survive the first charge of my vanguard. Loras will surely make sure your brought to your knees" Renly said.

"Do you recall the Siege of Storm's End after all these years brother? I know I do. I still remember how you whined about the pinching crabs in your tummy. How you oft looked to the Tyrell blockade up until Ser Davos came with his onions and foodstuffs. I boiled soup for you from books; the binding glue was made from horses. When I shot down those incessant seagulls that oft circled Storm's Point, and grilled them up nicely, you went on prattling on to the men that it was better than the rats we had feasted on for the past days.  
Yet, you have been nothing but grow into a bold impetuous child of one-and-twenty. At the end, this is nothing but one of your stupid little games. I made sure that you would live so that you could live to another tomorrow; a brighter day. I ensured that you would not be seeing our Mother and Father so soon! Gods be damned, I should have let you die! Come to dawn. We shall see" Stannis gritted.  
"Look to your sins, Lord Renly. The night is dark and filled with terrors." the red woman said.

* * *

" ** _Gods be damned, I should have let you die!!"_**

Those words kept ringing through his mind. Rattling through the head of the King of Highgarden. 

Neither his new wife Margaery or his sweet lover Loras could soothe the feelings of unease. 

He hated him. Hated. He found it almost hard to believe that he once loved his brother Stannis. 

No, that was a lie. In spite of everything, he had loved Stannis. He was his constant. More so than Robert. 

Renly had never met his father. He tried several times to imagine him. Yet, every time he tried, it was Stannis' face that came to mind. 

Cressen and Stannis had always took care of him. But it was often Stannis. Mayhaps it was do to his sense of duty and righteousness or sense of kinship, he could not say.

 _"Stanny, could you read me a story? Plleeeeaaaaaaassse??"_  
_"It's Stannis. And you're getting to old for stories._  
 _"Pleeeaassse??"_  
 _"Alright enough with the doe eyes. 'The prince stood tall and proud as he faced the dragon. "I needn't fear you", he sai-"_  
 _"Wrong!!"_  
 _"What am I doing wrong?"_  
 _"You're not doing the voices. Brella always does voices for the characters. The prince should sound like a true brave knight. A hero!!"_  
 _"This is simply a tale if fantasy for errant boys and girls, like you, who can't go to sleep faster. And how am I to sound like a hero?!"_  
 _"I dunno. Make your voice a bit deeper?"_  
 _"Alright then. '" I shall slay you, you vile creature!" the prince crie - "_  
 _"Stannis?"_  
 _"Yes?"_  
 _"Do you know how to be a hero?"_  
 _"I've never truly been a hero."_  
 _"You'd be a great hero"_

Mayhaps, you can still be a hero, brother. 


	12. Memories (Quentyn/Gwyneth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found it so hard to believe that the beautiful dark-haired buxom woman in front of him is that scrawny girl from before

Quent stared up at the ceiling lamenting, then looking over his shoulder. She neatly tucked herself into his chest. 

He found it so hard to believe that the beautiful dark-haired buxom woman in front of him is that scrawny girl from before

* * *

He had gone up to the Yronwood estate to pick up a couple of things that Cletus left behind for his cousin Archibald's surprise party. 

Being there had stirred so much memories. How Anders Yronwood was almost like a father to him. And how he had a massive crush on Cletus' older sister Ynys.

As he pulled up to the curb, he took note of a dark-haired and fairly buxom young woman in front of the house. She then eyed him strangely before bearing a friendly smirk.

"OMG, Quentyn Martell is that you?"  
He kept staring at her trying to place her but found himself unable to.

"It's me, Gwyneth Yronwood!! You used to babysit me when I was like nine"

It was then he recognized her. She was no longer the annoying scrawny girl from before.   
"Gwyneth Yronwood?! Wow, you have grown!"

"Yea. W-What're you doing here?"

"Um, Cletus, your brother sent me to pick up a crate of beers he had stashed around somewhere"  
"Oh, yea. They're in the kitchen. Must be some hell of a party, huh?"

"Well, its a big surprise party for Arch"  
"Good for Arch. I love my cuz but he needs some life into him."

"Yeah, well, that's the main agenda. That and it is his birthday."  
"Of course. So, Quent, how's college life for you now? Gettin' busy with the ladies?"

As much as he would like to be "busy with the ladies" as much as Cletus and the countless other guys at K.L.U., he's not. There were more girls whom he had crushed on let alone dated. The first of which being Gwyneth's older sister Ynys. But that was the past, and last he checked, she was a mother now to a little boy and girl. Later, his sister's friends, Sylva Santagar and Taena. 

"Ughh, not as much as I would like to be. I just started this pharmacology internship."  
"Ohh. That sounds pretty cool. Hey, isn't that what your sister is studying?"  
"No, not really. Ari's studying pharmaceutical sciences. Dad's hoping that we combine our efforts together."

As they put in the crates of beers into the car, they just kept on talking. 

"So, you all set for college?"  
"Yup. Me, Ned, Lhara and your brother Trys. You all set for the real world?"  
"I've only got one year left, then I'm gonna go for my masters"

"Mind if I tell you something kinda embarrassing?"  
"Uh, sure. If you feel like it."  
"I had a massive crush on you when I was younger."  
"Are you serious?"  
"Yeah. You're even cuter now than you were then."

He felt like that was a lie. Quentyn knew that he's not much of a looker compared to the rest of his friends. Even with his lazy eye, Cletus caught the attention of the ladies and almost every one drooled over Gerris. And yet, he couldn't help but feel flattered by Gwyneth's confession. 

It wasn't long and beyond his power that they began to kiss. Touch. Grope. Their hands roaming around each other's bodies. A part of his head told him just how wrong this is; she's your best friend's sister. Yet the rest of him did not care to say the least. 

Not having tremendous experience in kissing let alone being with girls, he wondered how he'd do. The first time had been with his sister's close friend Taena Something. She had done more of the work while he had mostly fumbled. 

Yet all of it felt so right. She was suddenly writhing underneath him.

Everything became a blur as they both drowned in such a hazy pleasure. Her legs around his neck. Her shapely breasts bouncing. Fondling her arse. All of it glorious.

* * *

Not once did her ever think that he would have a beautiful woman by his side. Yet, here was one by his side. One who actually liked him and he wasn't dreaming. 

It was definitely more than he deserved and much more than he could ask for. What on earth could be better?

I hope she would like to be Gwyneth Mattell.


	13. Regrets (Ned/Cat,Ned/Ashara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We shouldn't have broken up. I love you. And I know in your heart of hearts you love me too"  
> Cat contemplates on what to tell Ned before he marries Ashara

She couldn't believe it herself. The sheer fact that she is attending the wedding of her ex-boyfriend. And plastering the most fake-looking smile on the planet. 

I fucked up so badly. 

* * *

It started in the name of a good cause. Messing with Brandon Stark. 

Gods, even now her hatred of him is boiling like a dormant volcano. She wanted him to hurt the way he hurt her. Catelyn had never been more pissed off in her entire life when she had caught him and Barbrey "Bitch" Ryswell fucking and holding each other during one of Robert Baratheon's infamous keggers. 

She was supposed to go to a gala held by her father and Tywin Lannister; with Brandon by her side and announce their engagement. But that was no longer the case. Brandon will still go, as his family are one of the most prominent families in attendance. 

He had noticed her crying and gave her a tissue. He then offered to taker her in his brother's place. "You are expected to go with a Stark. So ... may I take you to the ball, Lady Catelyn?" She giggled at that and accepted his kind "chivalrous" gesture. 

As predicted, Brandon seemed annoyed by the fact Ned brought her to the gala. Rickard Stark seemed rather bemused by the notion. His sister and younger brother bore their father's expression as well. Her father was not amused by this and neither was Uncle Brynden. Lysa harshly whispered in her ear, "You really downgraded, haven't you, Cat?" Edmure was apprehensive, due to Brandon's actions; even threatening to kick Ned in the balls if he hurt her. 

But soon, the week to mess with Brandon turned into a month. And in that month, she was already starting to fall in love with Ned Stark. Everything was just so easier with Ned. So different. She could actually be herself around him. See a future with him. He is so undeniably kind and gentle, with the sweetest heart she had ever known. His lips even tasted sweet whenever they kissed. 

_"You're unreal, y'know?"_  
_"Whaddya mean, Ned?"_  
_"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to sound insulting, but you are just so undeniably perfect Cat!"_  
_"Ned, stop. I'm nowhere near perfect."_  
_"I am! Sometimes, I think I'll wake up and realize it was all just a dream"_  
_"No. Because sometimes, I'm afraid that it will all just be a dream. And if it is, I have no intention on waking up soon"_

Falling in love was not part of the plan. "Love can blossom over time just as it can capture you in a single breathe," her mother once told her. And it did. She could feel an actual ache in her chest whenever she was away from Ned. And when they decided to become intimate for the first time, there was never a time she felt more whole and complete. In a matter of time, they had been dating for four months. Compared to the longer time of the year and a half she'd spent dating Brandon, it felt almost romantically bewitching that she was falling for him in months. 

And the cause for such bliss, became the downfall. Brandon had had enough of it all. Around Thanksgiving dinner, with all the Starks gathered, Brandon cornered her as she tried to find the bathroom. 

_"What the hell do you think you're doing, Cat?"_  
_"I think I wanted to tinkle but I can see there are more important matters here"_  
_"Stop messing with me and stop messing with Ned!"_  
_"Messing with Ned? What do you mean, mess with Ned?"_  
_"You goddamn know what I'm talking about. The fact being you're using my brother to piss me off!"_  
_"Last I checked, pissed off is your default attitude"_  
_"I mean it, Cat. Don't go breaking his heart!"_  
_"Like you broke mine? How is Barbrey by the way? Last I checked, she dumped your ass after you tried hitting on her sister."_  
_"Do not break his heart, Cat. I am begging you. Hate me all you want just don't hurt my brother"_  
_"You're forgetting something Bran. I'm not you. As much as I enjoy you writhing like a worm, I wouldn't dare break his heart."_

But that was over in an instant. Ned had been right behind them and had listened to **everything**. She never saw him angry, and it scared the crap out of her. He reminded her of an alpha wolf asserting his dominance. 

_"Ned. Ned, please let me explain!"_  
_"I don't want an explanation. I don't want to hear a thing from you!"_  
_"Ned. Please. What we have i- "_  
_"A lie. A freaking lie!"_  
_"Ned, I love you! Not Brandon, you!!"_  
_"I should've realized it sooner. Why else would you actually go out with me?"_  
_"Ned, please I, I "_  
_"Just ... get the hell out, Catelyn!"_

Catelyn. Not Cat. She would never be Cat to him ever again. 

* * *

Things had also soured between Ned and his brother Brandon. Both of them weren't exactly on speaking terms. Not until Brandon had set him up with his future bride-to-be; Ashara Dayne. From what she had heard, Ned was reasonably apprehensive toward him and her. 

And yet, the fair and lovely Ashara Dayne fell in love with him. And he fell in love with her. And he asked her to marry him, in which she clearly said yes. The biggest smile etched on her face. Right now, she was really grateful that Lyanna had thought to invite her to the wedding. 

_We shouldn't have broken up. I love you. And I know in your heart of hearts you love me too._

She then had the idea of stopping the wedding. Just blurt out her feelings the moment the septon said; "Should anyone have any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace"

"I love you more than she ever will, Ned!!"

"Our two hearts beat as one!" 

"I'm your maiden in the tree!!"

The first one that came to mind seemed more real and natural. The other two just sounded cheesy and he probably wouldn't even understand those references. But she then saw a look from Lyanna's face that seemed to read into her mind; anticipating what she was about to say. Something that told her how wrong it would be. 

Lyanna is likely right. It would be the most selfish and stupid thing to do. Would Ned even take her back? Would he actually leave Ashara at the altar for her? 

Instead, she choked it all back. Felt an ache in her heart as they said the words; "I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day until my last day", and gently cup her face and kiss her. 

At least, I'll always have a part of you with me Ned. A little you.


	14. Soaring with Honour (Lysa/Elbert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Arryn succeeds in wedding his heir to a lady of Riverrun, preventing him from going off with Brandon Stark  
> Yet, Littlefinger still lurks hoping to destroy the realm thru his "love"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of simplicity, I've merged the character's of Elbert and Denys

The one thing she loves about the Eyrie is just how high up on the mountains it is. At times, she feels as if she could touch the clouds and sky.

“Oy. Something wrong, luv?” her husband called out from their bed. Elbert Arryn is still as handsome as she first saw him. Windswept honey-blonde hair, deep bright blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and dimples when he smiles. He still looks like the young lord-in-waiting she saw all those years ago: straight as a lance, clean-limbed, and hard with muscle.

She had been so happy to meet him as her father and Lord Arryn came to discuss the possibility of a betrothal between the two. At first, she had thought that it was another suitor for Cat. Cat, who always got everything and anything she'd want and barely had to do anything. It wasn't until he came to talk to her did she put two and two together. He was undoubtedly more handsome than Jaime Lannister; if not of equal handsomeness. She had hugged her father so tight upon her discovery.

“Tis nothing my lord husband. Simply enjoying the view from our castle”

“I’m certainly enjoying the view,” he said while slapping then firmly cupping her arse. His hands then came to cup her breasts while his hard cock seem to press against her arse. His hot breath down her neck and sweetly kissing it.

“E-Elbie …”

“By the Gods, Lysa …”

His hands then came to her hips, bringing them close to his own; his cock pressing inside her now. She let out a small squeal of delight. Mayhaps, we will bring another child into the world. Another babe to hold and cherish.  
But he had already given her seven babes, and that was more than enough. A time before that, it likely would have been only and simply one. The babe she knew, the babe she would love but never got to.  
Her thoughts then went to the back of her head as soon as she felt her husband’s seed fill her.

She then goes to the training yard to see her boys.  
Robin, ever a tenacious fighter, showed no mercy to her husband’s captain of guard, Harlan Hunter. Recently knighted by her uncle Blackfish, her son was more than eager to prove his worth. It is almost painful to see her Sweetrobin as a near grown man rather than the sweet babe who wailed when not in sight of her. Then the sweet child who would clutch tightly to her while she sang him to sleep.  
“I’ll be the Darkrobin soon enough. Ser Sweetrobin sounds stupid.”

Seeing him fight mercilessly reminded her of the pain of having to send her daughter off. Minisa was ever a willful girl. No one could rein her in. Not the maester, not her septa, not even her father or mother. Twas the notion of her good-father Jon Arryn that they send her to Dorne. Such willfulness will be appreciated there. And help mend ties with the Martells. She would likely be back soon. She had been a scrawny girl of nine when she last saw her. The Flower of the Vale, most called her. How she must have blossomed into a young woman now. It's almost fitting considering that her father was and is still considered the Darling of the Vale. But from what she heard from her last letter; she's been getting along well with Prince Oberyn's daughters; even if they were bastards.

Osbert, who decided to dub himself the Falcon Knight, was breaking even with her husband’s squires Lucas Corbray and Wallace Waynwood. Of all her boys, he surely looked more like a Tully. Her eldest and her youngest had some semblance their father yet Osbert had strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. As they sparred, the Royce cousins; Albar and Waymar were as well. She found it so hard to believe just how different the two are: Albar is broad-shouldered and barrel-chested whrereas Waymar is graceful and slender. Yet, in spite of his somewhat distant familial relationship betwixt them, Albar was more humble and down-to-earth and Waymar exhibited arrogance and vanity.

Gwyneth, Lorra and her twin Edwell, along with their baby sister Eleyna had been watching them. No one could doubt that either Gwyneth or Eleyna were Tully's with their luscious auburn locks and bright blue eyes. The second set of twins are the true Arryns amongst her nest of falcon chicks. Lorra has the Arryn look of bright honey-blonde hair yet armed with pretty forest green eyes rather than sky blue. Elbert claims that they likely came from his mother; Lady Bellena Belmore. Edwell is undoubtedly a bright boy; as shrewd as his grandfather (according to her husband) for a boy of seven; according to her husband. But what worried her the most was his health. 

He cannot play with the other boys as much as he wants to. Prone to shaking fits because of his sickness. And even when he does get a small window of play with his brother's, who love him so, he is often crippled with short raspy breaths. Lysa had often woken from nightmares that her little Edwell will no longer be with him.   
"I named our son for one of the strongest men I know, and one of my best friends. Edwell will find his own path, as Ned had," her husband said to her. 

From what she could tell about Ned Stark is how honourable he is. As dishonourable as it is to bring a bastard into his home, what other man would do that? Cat has no true right to moan about it being dishonouable. In a different life, when she still thought herself in love with Petyr Baelish; she would have bore the dishonour of bearing his bastard with her head held high. And, not to mention, she was half in love with his brute of a brother Brandon. That's all she ever heard of when news came of her betrothal; waking up to the sound of "Brandon" on her lips in the morn, then throughout the day and the day would end with a breathy "Brandon". If she was in love with her husband as she claimed in her last letter, than she shouldn't be so offended. And from what she had heard, and from what Elbert had told her, "Brave" Brandon Stark bedded nearly half of the women in the Tourney of Harrenhal. Would she be more offended if half the riverlands was filled with his ilk, or if her good honourable husband brought home the one?

Yet, that train of thought brought her back to that letter. It had been sent years ago, just after Lorra and Edwell's birth yet she had never opened it. She had barely recognized the sigil. A grey stone head with fiery eyes on a light green field. She tore at the seal and pulled out the folded parchment. As she unfolded it, she discovered the letter's lengthy contents.

 _Dearest Lysa,_ it read.

_I hope that you are well. I congratulate you on your marriage to Ser Arryn._

_Although it pained me when your father forced me out of Riverrun, it has since provided me the strength to rise among the ranks. I have since established several businesses, all of which have been highly successful._

_I have written to ask you if The Eyrie has any need of a collector. I can assure you that I have a talent when it comes to finances. In terms of coin, I can bring the Vale twice as much as any other collector you may encounter. Even if there are no positions, I implore you to tell Lord Arryn of my achievements, for I will be successful and it will bring me closer to you._

_I have thought about you ever since I left. You have been the one who has loved me and encouraged me, unlike the many who have belittled me. You are the one who has driven me to become the man I am today. Perhaps, one day, House Baelish will rise even higher. The Baelishes and the Arryns could unite one day and become an unstoppable force._

_Sweet Lysa, nothing would please me more than to see your lovely face again. I hope that you have missed me as much as I have missed you. Please write back as soon as you can. I would be excited to hear from you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Petyr Baelish._

Lysa leapt up and down, holding his words to her chest. 

But that was only the first. The second one was a year after that one. 

 _Dearest Lysa,_  

_I do hope that you are well._

_I am deeply surprised and hurt that you have not written back to me. Had I done something wrong to offend you?_

_Should you do me the honour of showing your lovely face to me again, I would be ever so grateful. I have only wished to see you again._

_That has been my only wish this past year. I had been plagued with the memories of you and I throughout our childish fancies. I do hope you will have the grace and courtesy to invite me into your home._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Petyr Baelish._

There had been more letters like that up until Eleyna's birth. Elbert had gotten word of Petyr's accomplishments in Gulltown, during his service to Lord Grafton and the young Arryn heir of Gulltown. _We should invite him over again sometime. He was still kin after all, thru his father's marriage to one of Jon Arryn's nieces._ And now, Petyr is the Master of Coin in King's Landing. 

He's pleaded to see me. Pleading; he must miss me so. 

But that was another life. A different time when she thought the world of him. When she was a naive girl who believed the romantic notions of the songs she loved so. She would have named one of her sons after him. And yet, a part of her is still tethered to him.

Lysa Tully would have done anything for Petyr Baelish. Lysa Tully, a stupid foolhardy girl who was enthralled by how intelligent and clever he was. Who tried to make him notice her in spite of him obviously loving Cat.

Lysa Arryn would do no such thing. Lysa Arryn is a devoted and loving mother of seven babes whom she would do anything for. A wife to a good and honourable man of a proud and prominent house. Who is as devoted to her as she is to him. 

The letters were promptly tossed into the flames. Petyr Baelish is nothing but ashes. For she followed the mottos of her families houses stronger than before. 

Family, Duty, And As High as Honour.


	15. Reunited (Sansa/Tommen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not possible. This was the little boy she once knew that is her brother Rickon's best friend. The slightly pudgy rambunctious boy who loved to play with his adorably-named kittens. Tommen Baratheon could not be looking so damn good.

She’s graduating this year, four years of torment finally over, and she feels that she deserves to enjoy life. She isn't going to spend her last semester cooped up in a dorm room. Sansa Minisa Stark, she deserves a fucking break. 

The Reed siblings, Meera and Jojen decide to throw a ostentatious Halloween party. For someone who was a bit of an introvert, Jojen can definitely throw a party. Everyone fist bumping in the air as the deejay started playing the music. 

Its then and there that she sees him. It was not possible. This was the little boy she once knew that is her brother Rickon's best friend. The slightly pudgy rambunctious boy who loved to play with his adorably-named kittens. Tommen Baratheon could not be looking so damn good. He had more of those legendary golden curls arming his head, neatly parting to his left. His shoulders broader and bulging from the Hell's Hounds Jersey he was wearing. And those beautiful emerald green eyes gleaming with a certain mischievousness. 

He could not be looking so damn fine. She watches as he's engaged in a arm-wrestling match with Samwell Tarly's little brother; Mathis or Dickon, she can't recall his name. His muscles practically rippling and bulging as he puts Tarly in his place. 

His tongue then appreciatively licking off the sauce of the boneless chicken wings ordered. His lips then suddenly engaged with a bottle of beer, tiny droplets of the liquid decorating those cute dimples of his. 

She feels positively perverted checking him out like this. The moment he eyed her, those springy curls of his practically bounced as he got out of his seat. 

"Sansa? Sansa Stark, is that you?"

"Tommen? Ohmygod!! Tom, that is you. It is so good to see you!!"

"It's good to see you too. You're looking pretty good, Sans!"

"Ohh, thanks. You're looking pretty sharp yourself, Tom!"

"How are things lately?"

"Pretty great actually. This party reminds me of that time me and Margaery ha ..."

* * *

The sound of her alarm clock wakes her up. But it sounds like a car horn. 

As she stretches her body, she finds herself being weighed down by something. It is then that she opens her eyes and she sees who it is. 

Tommen freaking Baratheon, laying in between her breasts. 

It is then she vaguely remembers what had happened. The night had ended with their lips hot on each other, his mouth on her cunt and her hands digging into his curls. 

Trying to get up, she found her legs feeling soar. Everything she tried to remember was a blank space. 

Looking at the clock does she realize that she had missed at least two of her classes. But that was the last thing on her mind. 

Myrcella's going to kill me. Oh god, Cella is so going to kill me. 


	16. Brothers (Jon & Robb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon was never a bastard in his eyes; only a brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.

He was going to rescue his father from those stupid lions no matter the cost. 

Not once did he liked that wormy-lipped blond-haired shit. Joffrey Baratheon, the boy who called himself a king who imprisoned his father. This would mean war either way. 

He looked at the camp; every able warrior preparing for what is to come. He quickly joined up with the group by the fire. 

Theon was already there, conversing with the heir of the Last Hearth, as they are of an age to each other. Even without a sword or battle-axe by his side, SmallJon Umber makes quite a formidable presence. Dacey Mormont, heiress to Bear Island was already having a laugh with Ser Perwyn Frey; the elder brother to his squire Olvyar, who is already by his side. The slight sly-eyed Owen Norrey; who looked something of a fox, was talking with the heir to the Hornwood; Daryn. The younger Karstark brothers were already drunk as is. 

"Looks like our boy wolf is here!" SmallJon said with a small laugh. 

Theon laughed as well and handed him a mug filled to the brim with ale. "How do you fare, o fearless leader?"

Just as he was about to say something, Dacey cut in. "Oh, and you think you can do better Ser Squid?" 

"Alright. That's enough, Lady She-Bear", he said to calm and irritate the ever-proud Mormont woman. The Mormont woman were skilled and proud warriors, yet he knew that it irritated Dacey to no end being addressed per her proper title. It reminded him of his sister Arya. Her voice sounds almost distant. 

"If you need me to defend your honour, I'd gladly engage in a wrestling match with Theon."

"And what honour would a lovely maiden of Bear Island have?" SmallJon cackled. Dacey responded with a bemused look on her face and a shove. 

The Karstarks laughed even more and harder. The Frey brothers seemed confused to say the least. 

"We breed our woman good and strong in the North, lads. Best not mess with this one, boys!!" SmallJon cackled. The Frey's looked a little more eased and gave a small chuckle. Dacey then gave one of them a look which left him blushing. 

"Ohh, look. I've found myself a sweet and shy southron boy!!" Dacey cooed at him. But that left him blushing even more. 

"So, honestly, how you feeling Robb?" Theon asked with a slight grimace on his face. 

"Alright. ... Scared to say the least. I've only played at war, never had I thought I'd be in one."

"That's good."

"How is that good?"

"It means you're not stupid"

"It also means you're thinking. That's good thing to do, my lord" Owen Norrey piped up.  He then looked ashamed, "Please forgive me, my lord"

"There's nothing to forgive, Owen" 

Soon, he felt himself more at ease as he talked with his compatriots. 

Harrion, the heir to Karhold suddenly came by. "Alright, idjits. Time to head back to our encampment. Apologies if my brother's had done anything to offend you, my lord"

"Oh, come off it, Harry. We're just having a laugh with the boy wolf. Weren't we Torr?"  
"We certainly are, Edd"

"Harry, come on and sit down. Have some ale!!" SmallJon and Dacey said, raising up their mugs. 

"I'm quite fine, thank you"  
"Oh, sure. Honest Harry is fine!! Whaddya think Torr?"  
"Oh, surely sweet Humble Harry never partakes in drink."  
"SHUT IT!!"

The elder Karstark then pulled the younger by the ears; both screeching in pain. 

"Brothers. I'm certain you know how its like to live with them, my lord," Harrion said with a smile. 

That he did. While Bran and Rickon were not of an age to annoy him in that extent, he could imagine them doing that. Mayhaps in time, and hopefully they would never learn the effects of drink. Rambunctious and bold they may be, but he could not picture them doing that. 

Actually, it would likely be the reverse. Robb was not a wild child by any means, but he had done some foolish things with Jon, and he was the one to rein him in. Like the time they had thrown snow onto Fat Tom's head. Or scaring the others by pretending to be ghosts in the crypts. 

"Yes, I do."

* * *

The Kingslayer fell for the trap. 

As much of a boy he felt, he looked every inch of a proud northern warrior. He felt a true Stark of old with Greywind by his side. 

"I wish my brother were here," Daryn Hornwood muttered. He then looked at the youth with his cedar-coloured mane of curls and the beginnings of a beard; in spite of being of an age with Olyvar. 

"You have a brother, Daryn?"

"I do, my lord. Larrence. He's a good sweet lad."

"How is it that your lord father had never brought him with you during your visits at Winterfell?"

"Well, my lord. It's just that, my father did not wish to offend your lady mother. And he believed he would be doing a great disservice to Lord Stark in bringing in another Snow"

Snow? "Another Snow?"

"Yes, my lord. Larrence Snow, Bastard of Hornwood," Daryn said, cringing his face. "I had thought to bring him with me and my father, but he's still a boy. Meaning no offence to Olyvar, but I thought that he could be a better squire to you"

"I am certain he would be. But we cannot lament on what could've been, we have a war to fight"

"Of course. And we can also think on what to come back to. Hell, if this war had not been started, I'd be wedding Alys Karstark by now."

Alys Karstark. Robb vaguely remembered the girl. She had come with her father to Winterfell when she was about six years old and they had danced. She also danced with Jon, who had been left with a bright-red blush shortly after. 

Upon seeing Daryn Hornwood die in front of him, a giant red slash across his chest having pulled his guts out, he wondered of his brother, Larence Snow.   
"Your brother will hear of how valiantly you fought Daryn"

Yet that stirred feelings of his own. _Jon, have you been hearing tales of me? I will avenge Father and get our sisters back, I swear._

* * *

King in the North. 

King in the North. Such a ridiculous thing. 

He could still hear the GreatJon's roaring. 

I've never been raised to be King!

"King in the North. This is ridiculous. What do you think Jon?" he asked. 

But there was no reply. Only the wind. In his dumbfoundedness did he truly realize his brother was not by his side, as he always had been. 

They would not be fighting together. No glory to bring to the Stark name. They would not be going down in history together as great warriors of repute. 

Now, Robb Stark truly felt alone.

* * *

He woke up feeling dazed. Whether it was because of his lady wife Jeyne, who curled her body close to his or being in the unfamiliar castle of Riverrun, he could not say. 

As he got up to wash his face, he took note of his reflection. His auburn curls now reached down to his shoulders, the beginnings of a beard covering his jaw, and his blue eyes becoming as hard as ice. I truly am no longer a boy anymore.

His eyes then went to the iron and bronze sword crown that had been bequeathed to him by northmen and riverman alike. Along with the titles; King in the North and King of the Trident. 

_When did all of this become so out of hand and confusing? King in the North._

_Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king? When everyone was shouting King in the North, King in the North, I told myself ... swore to myself ... that I would be a good king, as honorable as Father, strong, just, loyal to my friends and brave when I faced my enemies_. But this had taught him something.

While he may not have been raised to be a king, he realized that kingship was a duty to shoulder, not a right to bare. Joffrey so-called Baratheon probably paraded himself like he was meant for the world. This had all started because his father was unjustly executed. Family, Duty and Honour had all brought him to this war. A war he never wanted. 

Family. Gods had no mercy for them all. Father executed by a incestuous bastard if Stannis Baratheon is to be believed. Sansa, does she think that I have forgotten about her? Is she suffering? Arya, where was she? He could only hope that she was safe and had not forgotten about them. Bran and Rickon. Had he not put his trust in Theon Greyjoy, someone who he thought of as a brother, they would still be alive. Would they have forgotten Father; forgotten me?

Jon. ... Jon was his constant. His shadow, his best friend, his rival; his brother. He was more like a twin rather than a half-brother. They've trained together since they could carry sticks in hands. Shouting echoing war cries; But that stirred the worst memory ever: a day when they were still boys. Jon had shouted like many times before how he was "lord of Winterfell", and for the first time his mother's voice came out of his lips, telling him that he could not be Lord of Winterfell. And in that instant, the smile that plastered his face was gone like the morning mist. 

Now Jon was all he had left. The only one who was not victim to his follies. 

He needed him. He needed his sword; his counsel. Had Jon been here, I would surely put in his counsel above all else. _Would you?_ , said a voice that sounded like his mother. And within a flash, a burst of memories flooded him like the crashing waves of the stormlands.

_"Once I'm Lord of Witnerfell, I'll ask the king to legitimize you, Jon. I promise!!"_

A promise he made when they were still boys as green as summer grass. Something to assure his brother that he would always have a place by his side. He would always need and want Jon by his side. For now until the end of time, Jon would first and foremost be his brother. 

His father had always said that a true Lord of Winterfell, a true Stark, puts the good of the North before everything else. Before family, friends, or personal desires. 

 _But what if your personal desires match what is best for the North_ , he wondered silently. _What if, I could get what I want and do what was best for my House's subjects too?_ '

_"Once I'm Lord of Witnerfell, I'll ask the king to legitimize you, Jon. I promise!!"_

Jon. I'm keeping my promise. But **I** am the king now.


	17. Peep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had come to their friend Quentyn's house to play hide and seek, yet they find themselves in precarious positions when they find a place to hide.

"Alright then. I'll count and you guys go on and hide." 

He, Sam and Gendry had been invited to their friend Quentyn to play. And he had to admit that his place was pretty swanky. The walls were an unusual orange-yellow colour and there were banners depicting their proud history and the famed sigil of theirs; the spear piercing the sun. 

"Alright then. One ... Two ..."

Damnit, Gendry and the others already went off to find a hiding place. I need to find one and fast. 

While running, he had realized that Quent's place was pretty big. Almost as big as Winterfell. 

Crap! He's almost at ten, and I'm still running to look for the perfect spot. 

Uh, um, this room! Looks good enough. Under the bed? Closet! Perfect. 

Jon felt himself sigh contently and then smirk. Quent's never going to find me in here. 

Suddenly, he heard the door of the room open. Damnit, did Quent find me already?!

"... swear to God Tyene. He'll flip out, Dad always does."

"Well, he's bound to do so Ari, Depending ..."

"Depending on what?"

"On wheter or not you actually fucked Daemon?"

"No more than you have with Garin!"

"Not with a lack of trying to. I feel sorry for the poor boy"

Jon had no idea what they were talking about, only that they were really pretty. The one talking about Daemon looked to be Quentyn's sister; olive-skinned, large dark eyes, and long black hair in ringlets. The blond girl by her side is just as pretty with her fair skin and hair and bright blue eyes. He then remembered Quent mentioning that he had a lot of cousins that were girls; that must be one of them.

Kinda hard to believe that Quent is related to them.

Suddenly, they started to take off their clothes. Don't look, don't look, don't look. 

"Volleyball practice was pretty rough today."

"Yup. Did you see Edmure Tully checking you out?"

"He's always checking me out. Especially with these babies growing," she said, pointing and shaking her boobs. 

Damnit Quentyn! I can't believe you're actually related to them!! And now they are down to wearing their underwear. Quentyn's sister's wearing some lacy-looking black bra while his cousin is wearing a pink bra and ... a thong?

"Wow, Tyene. That thong looks really good on you!"

"Thanks, Ari. Did you see the rhinestone?"

"No, where is it?"

"Right here!" she said, lightly smacking her butt. Wow, that's pretty hot.

"Ohh, it matches your earrings!"

Earrings? Really?

Suddenly, both of them took off their bras. Tyene's nipples are bright red almost like strawberries. And Arianne has really large dark nipples. 

"Ohh, damn. My back is killing me!! Why is it I can't find a bra to support these puppies?" Arianne said, pointing to her bare chest. 

Please, please don't. 

* * *

He was really hoping that Quent and Sam don't find him. Or Jon either. Gendry likes the guy as a brother yet he'd probably kill his fun right now. 

I just meant to hide, yet I feel like a pirate finding buried treasure. 

The girl in front of him is slim and slender as a willow tree, with straight black hair worn in a long braid and unblemished olive-coloured skin. And right by her side was a girl with wispy blonde hair. She almost reminded him of Aunt Genna. 

"Oh, c'mon, Jennelyn. Gerrold can go fuck himself."

"That'd be a sight."

"You know that you're my one and only."

"You're my one and only too, Nym"

Suddenly, they put their lips together. Moving about. Holy shit, they're making out!!

This is better than that time I found one of Uncle Tyrion's "special" magazines. 

"Nym, wait. I don't want to got that far, yet."

"Relax, Jenn, we can still have some fun," she said while taking off her shirt and slowly unbuttoning the other girl's shirt. 

Quentyn. Sam. Jon. Please, don't ever find me.

* * *

"I can't believe you guys were in my sister and cousin's rooms!"

"Quent, I still can't believe it took you and Sam over two hours to find us"

"Is that why you guys were asleep in their closests?"

"Of course, Sam. We got bored waiting for you guys to find us"

"I figured a little nap wouldn't hurt. I didn't know that it was Jon's idea too"

A car quickly pulled up by the curb. 

"I think that's our moms, Jon."

"Yup. Looks like it. Well, see ya Sam. See ya Quent!"

The two boys went up to their mothers, who were very clearly civil with each other at least. 

"Hello, boys."

"Hi, mom!

As they got in the car, Cersei and Lyanna noticed their two boys whispering something in each other's ear. 

"Boys, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

"Just ... nothing."

"Yup!"

"So, did you have fun at your friend's house?"

"Yup, we sure did. Hey, mom. Can we go and play at Quentyn's house again?"


	18. Reforged (Jon & Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said that Bran the Builder helped Durran Godsgrief build Storm's End. It was fitting that their descendants would return the favor

He always thought Winterfell to be so grand that nothing could destroy it. Yet, here he was, restoring Winterfell to the glory it once held. 

Much of it was a ruin. Yet, he oversaw to its restoration. Much of the materials used to restore the castle he grown up in had been taken from the place that he and many of his brothers had called home. 

Castle Black. The Shadow Tower. Greyguard. Greenguard. Oakenshield. The Nightfort. 

The Dreadfort. The accursed legacy of the Boltons extinguished and the cursed remains of their castle came to use. 

Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill had oversaw much of the reconstruction. He had come just in time as the Second War of the Dawn had come to swallow them all in the darkness. 

Had it not been for his bravery, mayhaps he would not be here. Much of his friends and allies would not be here if not for his stellar commanding and booming battlefield voice.

His own ragtag group of ruffians were quite impressive. The Lord of Starfall, now the Sword of the Morning was quite impressive. Even without the famed greatsword of his family, he had tremendous skill. How strange and ironic that one of the most skilled knights does not like fighting nor violence. Anguy the Archer's skill were on par with Theon's when he was still in his prime; mayhaps even better. Hard Harwin, who had been the son of the master of horse of Winterfell. The elder Tyroshi Pello Greenbeard, who ultimately perished. Thoros of Myr, their Red Priest, who had his flames lit ablaze, which helped repel the wights. 

Wun Wun had helped in turning over and placing the stones together. Yet Gendry had supervised over much of the reconstruction. He would have been a great addition to the Night's Watch had Yoren's party had come to the Wall rather than be ambushed. When Donal Noye perished, he could have made a great substitute for the man. Othell Yarwyck seemed to be annoyed that a boy was doing his job. But Gendry may be better than him. And Albett, Halder, Alf, Oafish Owen and Hareth take better instruction to him. 

He and Grenn would train on end. Both of them, brawling in the end. Pyp stated it's a sight to behold when they face off against one another: The Aurochs and the Bull. Iron Emmett and Ser Arnell seemed fond of him and training him as well. He would often train with Satin, Arron and Emrick. Three-Fingered Hobb liked the fact that Gendry did not complain about his cooking. Pyp and Donnel Hill often traded jests with him. Todder had taught him much of his bawdy songs and he often drank with Morgan Liddle, Ronnel Harclay and Jarman Bolling. 

It was clear why his sister was quite taken with him. Tall, broad of shoulder and build, that glossy hair and deep blue eyes; any girl would fawn over him. But that was not it. Brash as he can be at times, Gendry is a natural leader and a warrior in the making. His towering height, bull-shaped helm and a warhammer in hand made him someone to be feared. He is true steel; the thing that his father was. 

There had been tales about the Baratheons and the Starks since the Age of Heroes. Of course, during those days, they had simply been the Durrandons. Durran Godsgrief, the ancestor to the Durrandons and the present-day Baratheons, persisted building larger and more powerful fortifications since he declared war on the Gods of the Skies and the Waves, until finally, the seventh castle stayed in place and resisted the storms of Shipbreaker Bay. Some believe this is because the children of the forest took a hand in its construction; others believe that a young boy who grew up to be Bran the Builder, advised Durran on its construction. Seemed almost fitting that the descendant's of Godsgrief would return the favour. 

The two of them were definitely quite the pair. He and Gendry would train against each other. The Bull, as he liked to be called, was a fairly quick study; learning to use a mace, pike and his proficiency with a sword improved. The would have been true Black Knights of the Wall, as he once promised Sansa. He and Gendry were alike in several ways and so unalike in many different ways. Yet, they were able to understand and respect each other. Mayhaps, that is why their father's got along so well. And even thought of each other as brothers. No one and nothing could truly replace the brother he loved and lost but he would not mind naming Gendry his brother. For they truly are birds of a feather.


	19. Fixing (Sansa/Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was only supposed to fix her family's blade, instead she finds herself in need of fixing as well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When you are older, I will find you a husband who is good and gentle and kind"

The first time he speaks with the Lady of Winterfell she comes to him in his forge carrying to longswords in her arms.

"These were once my father’s Greatsword, and the sword of house Stark. Do you think you can repair it?" She holds out the two swords to him and he takes them carefully from her hands.

"Anything you wish my lady."

* * *

After nearly a moon's worth of labour, does he tell her that he had finished the work she gave him. She found herself oddly excited. When she sees a greatsword in front of her on the slab, she feels her heart flutter a bit. 

"I tried to make it as much as you told me, milady. I hope it is to your liking"

The blade is as wide across as a man's hand and taller than Rickon. The pommel now has a snarling wolf's head of pale stone with sapphire eyes that make it shine like two bright blue stars. The blade no longer held its dark and smokey appearance, instead the black and red ripples through the steel remained. The two colors lapped over one another without ever touching, each ripple distinct, like waves of night and blood upon some steely shore. The new scabbard was made of dark grey metal and boiled leather, engraved all over with snarling direwolves

It is not the same as it was. But neither was she. Her skin has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Almost like ice. Ice isn't simply the name of a sword. Ice itself can be a weapon. Sharp and hard and cold and strong. But it is also beautiful; reflecting the light. It's made of water which gives us life. And when you melt it, it simply becomes water. It can't be destroyed. Only changed. As much as she has as well.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Gendry"

"Twasn't a problem, milady"

"Sansa. Please, Gendry. Call me Sansa"

"Alright then, Lady Sansa"

_Sansa_. She liked the way it sounded of his voice.

* * *

She finds herself spending much of her time in the forge and its smith. It started as a comfort, her trips to the forge. Winterfell was empty, hauntingly so. Her family was a memory to the walls just like the Starks of old, when she walked the halls she felt as much a ghost as the rest of them. She spent most of her days surrounded by others and tending to her little lordling brother, but yet she felt so alone.

He spoke of Arya, the girl he once knew, in the hall where she offered him wine and a meager ration of food. It was enough. When she looked at him she knew he was like her. He clearly had his ghosts as much as she did. 

The visits were innocent at first, she liked the warmth of the hearth, and his quiet presence. She liked how easy he made the work look, lifting the heavy hammer and striking, shaping the metal into something true. Soon after she started to notice the way sweat rolled in beads down his back, the heat in his gaze when she stood close to admire his work.

Gendry never seemed to mind. Even if he misplaced or lost a blade or two. He never voiced or seemed disconcerted by her prescience. He was never surprised when she arrived, though he never turned from his work to greet her. 

For the first time in moons, she thanks him for allowing her to simply stand by and watch. His face is not as serious as she had first seen and offers a friendly smile. 

It almost happened out of nowhere; the kiss. He is hesitant to continue it; making the kiss between them stiff and chaste. It is not until his eyes stare back at her own; dazed and confused. But soon after she gives him a meaningful look, there is no longer a space between them. With a turn of her head she caught his mouth with hers, hot and needy, bruising in its attempt to close the distance between them. When he fell against the straw bed he pulled her with him, rucking her skirts to her waist and tugging her small clothes aside.

Sansa had kissed boys growing up, but this, this was far different; Gendry kissed her like a man grown. Sansa’s heart beat faster when his kiss grew heated and her mouth opened to welcome his tongue. She pressed her small frame against his, he held her tight to him with his other hand cradling the back of her head. The neckline of her dress was lower but that was because it was meant to never leave her chamber. The way he held her, she felt the warm air against her bodice, he dipped his head down and placed a kiss there. She let out a soft moan when she felt the sweep of his tongue that left a trail of where he had been. Her breathing was heavy now when he returned to look into her eyes. She pulled him in for another kiss and dropped her hands down to the edge of his leather vest, it was fit to him but there was an escape of his toned torso that she toyed with. Gendry let out a groan, the lower half of his body pressed against her. 

Strong, calloused hands began touching her with the same hesitant delicacy one might show fine glass, caressing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, sliding upward to tentatively cup her breasts. She purred appreciatively and pushed further into his touch. She reveled in the sweet, altruistic pleasure Gendry had offered, her body continuing its slow, sensuous rocking as she gently rode him. She straddles his lap, guiding him into her as he kisses her, his lips hot and salty with sweat, but surprisingly tender.

Her breath started to come in staccato gasps. She feels herself losing her power of speech entirely and can only clutch at his shoulders as he strokes over her, circling and teasing, stoking her like his forge and making her blood burn just as hot.

She never thought this would be her favorite part, but it was the closeness, the feeling of his neck against her cheek, the low heady groan he gave when she bit into the skin there to keep herself from crying out too loud. Maybe it was the feeling of his hands tugging the neckline of her dress so low, mouthing at her breasts in an achingly familiar way; the way he eased her hips into a slow drag over his own.

And gods be good, she never wanted to leave that moment; the knowledge that when he looked at her he saw Sansa, and only her. She never wanted to go back to a time where she felt so alone, and though she would never marry she would have him as long as he stayed. Afterward, they lie on his cot, her head tucked under his chin. Her body still hums pleasantly, and she knows she will never look at Gendry's hands again without feeling a flutter in her stomach. She then saw and felt inexplicable pricking of tears at his eyes as she kissed his brow in return, her hands coming up to cradle his head and stroke his hair.

When had they ever experienced something so sweet and slow, with gentleness to inspire tears? For the first time in a very long time, the heaviness in his heart, and the ghosts in hers, were eased. And she realizes that he has mended her heart as he had mended her family's blade. 


	20. Hate (Tywin, Tyrion/Tysha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU  
> Tysha is the sister of the Hound and the Mountain and finds herself marrying the impish heir of the Rock. Tywin cannot fathom as to how and why she loves him

He did not understand in the slightest. Not a damn bit. 

If there was one thing that Tywin Lannister understood is that his son was about as attractive as the stone dragons and gargoyles that adorned the isle of Dragonstone. Many women ranging from daughters of high lords to washerwoman and peasants would swoon over Jaime. Even after he had traded what little honour he had for the chance to don the white cloak of the Kingsguard, they would practically drop their skirts before him. 

And yet, here was a girl who would much rather be with the bane of his existence. An ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give him the right to bear my name and display my colors, as I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch him waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. 

Tywin Lannister had offered his "heir" to many noble woman. The first being the Tully girl that Jaime would have married; strengthening the ties between the riverlands and the west. Yet, Lord Hoster stated that he was promised a "whole man". He inquired the hands of the daughters of Bronze Yohn Royce of the Vale and Lord Leyton Hightower of the Reach. Even those proud men rejected him. Even after he had heard of Lord Leyton's daughter Lynesse had become nothing more than a harlot raising her portcullis for a Lyseni whoremonger, he thought that they would have made a reasonably good match. A whore for a whoremonger.

One thing he could not believe was that this girl was the sister to his most valuable and cruelest bannerman. He even had to admit that she was rather pretty having come from the Clegane's stock. Lady Tysha is slender of figure with dark hair and grey-eyes that shined like a sharpened blade. She was almost always having her arms around his neck; holding and kissing him with a fondness that disgusted him.

From what he gathered, they had met on a lonely road near Lannisport, where she was being accosted by some men. The men of her knightly elder brother. Jaime had driven the men off while Tyrion took care of her. At first, he had thought and willed himself to believe that Jaime had gotten some common woman or a whore for his impish brother to make him a man. Apparently, the men had come to bring her back to Clegane's Keep because The Mountain was angered by a pheasant she had over-roasted. Surely, having come from such humble beginnings, she had thought to seduce his foolish misshapen son. That seemed the only logical explanation. 

But that did not turn out to be that way either. Much of his own family had begun to adore her with the exception of his daughter. Kevan and Dorna thought her a sweet girl and a delight to have in the household. Gerion was immensely happy for Tyrion and even went as far as to jape that he did not need to look to his nephews for heirs; in private anyways. Tygett would likely be fond of the girl as well had the pox not taken him. 

She even glowed with her belly so heavily swollen with child. A part of him hoped that she would die giving birth to her own misshapen children. Yet her children; his grandchildren lived and are bright and healthy. Leona is a rather lively and rambunctious girl armed with the golden Lannister curls yet bearing her mother's sharp eyes. The boy Tyus is a different matter. He bore his mother's litheness and dark hair, and the bright Lannister emerald eye to his left and the cool steel-grey eye of his mother on his right. If Gerion and his father were the Laughing and Toothless Lions, then Tyus is the Silent Lion. The boy makes very little sound; rarely speaking unless necessary. Yet, in spite of that, he was quire clever and cunning when it came to his training at arms. Already beginning to master weapons such as pikes, maces, lances, axes and having a near equivalent level with a blade as Jaime has. 

Yet, even now, with the war staring, his grandson acting as his personal squire, he cannot fathom as to why she looked at him with awe. It became evident that it was not for Lannister gold, as even now she dressed modestly. What is it?


	21. Little/Big (Mya & Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how big he got, Mya would always be Gendry’s big sister

Daddy said that he would come back with a present for my birthday. But Daddy left with her new mommy on her birthday. Daddy better have gotten me a pony! 

She doesn't like being stuck with Uncle Ren and Uncle Stanny. Uncle Stanny's face is like stone and Uncle Ren is stupid.

The door opened and Daddy and her new mommy came. 

"DADDY!!"

"Oh-ho, hullo sweetheart! Sorry about your birthday!"

"Its okay. Did you get my present?"

"But of course! So, did you behave with your uncles?"

"Yes. Uncle Stanny's mean though!"

"I bet he is. Well, c'mon. Cersei's got your present"

She missed Mommy at times, but new mommy Cersei wasn't so bad. And she could still see Mommy at weekends. 

Mommy Cersei then came carrying a bundle of blankets. I don't want blankets. 

"Mya, meet Gendry; your baby brother!" Daddy said, laughing. 

She looked at the blankets and saw the baby. His eyes are blue and his hair black like hers. He stared all around the house. 

It's all new to him. It's still petty new to me. 

Suddenly, Gendry started crying like heck!

"I didn't do anything!!"

"Oh, its fine dear. That just means that he's hungry. Let's go, Gendry!"

I don't like my present.

* * *

Stupid Gendry. I hate him. 

Always crying. 

He's been here two months and that's all he does. Eat, Poop and Cry. Mostly crying.

Daddy already loves him more than me. Keeps talking to him; talking about him. 

"Oh, your daddy's little boy, aren't you?"  
"Oh, gonna be a strong little man!"  
"Ladies are gonna drool themselves silly around you!"

New mommy keeps making stupid baby noises at him. 

And right now, he won't stop crying. Crying all night. Can't stand it. 

The sky was crying too. Rain; Uncle Stanny said it was rain. The thunder and lightaning were loud and cracking. 

Normally, she would go to Daddy's room and he's let her sleep with him. But now, she's too old for it.   
"You're a big girl now, Mya. You need to learn to sleep on your own"

She gets up to the stupid baby's room where he won't stop his stupid crying. Wants to shout at it to stop crying; it could work. 

But as she come close, she sees just how red his face is. His arms moving up and down. 

Is he scared of the thunder and lightaning? 

Rather than shout at him, she instead looks. He's new to this too. 

"Shhh, Gendry. Shhh, it's okay"

Gendry quiets a little bit. His eyes opening and looking at her. 

On instinct, she takes him from his cradle; holding him like Mommy Cersei showed her. 

"Its okay. It's okay, Gendry. Don't be scared."

He then whimpers like a dog, almost. 

"You don't need to be scared. Not while I'm here. I-I'll protect you!"

Gendry then looks at her. Then, he giggles, trying to grab her nose. But then he puts his head on her shoulder. 

"I'm your big sister. You're my little brother. I'll always be here for you"

* * *

"Mya. Mya"

"Nnnghh, Gendry. What is it?"

"Sorry. I can't sleep. Can I stay with you? Please?"

"OK. But you're getting old for it."

"So, I'd let Tom and Cella sleep with me."

She should've expected that answer from Gendry. He's a good brother. And its clear just how much he loves the twins. 

"Alright then."

Gendry quickly snuggles close to her. She likes it, but nothing lasts forever. 

Mya once thought the world of her dad; Robert Baratheon. Now, she doesn't want to do anything with him. And she knows that he doesn't want to do anything with her, or any of his kids. Even the new baby Joffrey. 

"Mya, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Gendry. I'm sure."

It shouldn't hut her. She shouldn't think it. Yet she ends up saying it;

"Am I your favorite sister, Gendry?"

He doesn't even scrunch his face in making a decision. He just hugs her saying, "You're my best and favorite sister!"

"I love you, Gendry"

"I love you too. Mya"

* * *

"C'mon, Gen! Just two more!!"

"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!!"

Working out really does give a person a rush. 

Even if she had to deal with the girls ogling her little brother.

Dad was right. Girls practically drooled all over him.

He's gotten so big and tall, he's like a hulking. Only an inch shorter from Dad, and far more muscular than Dad could ever be. Even though, he had let much of himself go.

Hell, half the time, she still thinks that his muscles grow like trees. Or could look like them with the way he works out and eats.

And now, some guy is giving him the wrong kind of attention.

"I knew this would happen"

"Knew what would happen?"

"Some guy's checking you out, little bro!"

"Uh, yea. He's checking someone out. And its not me"

Quickly, she realized her mistake. And felt herself blushing.

"Y'know what? I'm gonna chat him up, and partner you up!!"

"No, no. Gendry. Do not set me up with anyone!"

"Why not? You've set me up with girls before. You've been my best wing man! Let me return the favor!!"

But as she tries to protest, he got up and went to him.

Nonononononon-

"Hi, I'm Guyard Morrigen."

"Hi, I'm Mya."

* * *

"Are you serious?"

They all look at her; gaping. 

Myrcella squealed out in excitement within a second. 

"Can I be your maid of honour? PLLLEEEEEAAAAAASESSSSSEEE???!!"

"Hold it, hold it. Mychel and I haven't worked out the details."

"If she gets to be your made of honour, I get to be a bridesmaid then!"

"I can be one of the groomsmen, right?"

"Guys, guys calm down!"

Gendry hasn't said anything. Figures, Mychel's the captain of his rugby team and a good mate of his. He likely feels betrayed. 

"Gendry. You're not going to say anything?"

He then looks at her with a slight grimace. 

Both of them had been thru much. Gendry had been with her during her best and worst moments.  
Surviving the pest they called their younger brother.   
Losing her mom to cancer and staying by her side until she passed away.   
Staying by his side when that thug Rorge had nearly killed him.   
Getting him away from that crazy (yet hot) redheaded teacher/priest.  
Supporting him when he decided to form a band.   
Look at Myrcella's boyfriends with the same disapproving face. 

As much as the thought scares her, she can't bear the thought of her brother's disapproval. Even if he is her little brother.

"Gendry, can you please be happy for me?"

"Mya, I am happy. But also a bit disappointed"

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be hard not to hit my team captain!"

* * *

"Please tell me you're not serious?"

"I am"

This could not be happening. Cersei would probably flip. Cella and Tom would yell in happiness and surprise. 

Gendry was grinning like the biggest loon ever, holding that ring. 

"Why?"

"Because I love her"

"No, I mean, why her? Honestly Gendry!"

"Because I love her. I-I feel like I've just been awakened from this long sleep. A-And she gets me, Mya"

"Why couldn't you have just stayed with Randa? Or the other one?"

"There's a reason why I didn't. And I'm not going to say. You'll think differently of her"

"I know she has enough standards to be dating local fuckboy Harry Hardyng. I have a pretty vivid idea"

"I never disapproved of any of your boyfriends!"

"Of course you did!"

"OK. Maybe I did, but that old guy deserved my fist in his face!"

"You leave Lothor out of this! ... He was sweet."

"I even helped fix you up with Guyard and my mate Jon"

"There was little relationship with Guyard. And it was weird dating with Jon"

"So, it wasn't weird when I dated Myranda?"

"That's not the point"

"And if I did propose to "the other one", it'd certainly be better for you as you're best mates!"

"Gendry ..."

"So, why the disappointment?"

"I don't want you getting hurt!!"

He then looks at her, clearly shocked by the outburst. 

"Gendry, I'm your big sister. No matter how big you get, I'm always gonna be your big sister. I'm saying this for your own good. I don't want you getting your hopes up and getting your heart broken. Please"

"Mya. I love her. I love her more than anything. I know just how stupid it seems. She might say no, I know. But I know tha-that I've gotta ask. I'm not asking your approval. But I would like your support and be by my side"

She thought about it. It would be ... pretty weird if he were to marry Randa. And she knows what kind of a person she can be at times. Jeyne was certainly nice company and easy to talk to. Saint Margaery was great to hang around with, even though she tried and failed miserably acting like Uncle Renly's beard. Honestly, Gendry and Sansa would look like a power couple out of some cheesy high school-themed movie. And make some fantastic looking babies. 

But she did have to admit that Arya Stark had some good qualities. Kind, witty, funny, spirited if not a bit wild and a tad unpredictable. And pretty. 

She then pulled her brother into a bear-hug. 

"Y'know I love you. Right?"

"I know, and thanks for looking out for me. I love you too, Mya"


	22. Virgin Territory (Jon/Doreah)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU  
> Doreah shows Jon what to do with a lady

OK. OK. Just calm down. 

You're just buying condoms. Plenty of guys buy condoms. 

But the anxiety of it all is killing me. 

Dany had been dropping hints for some time. 

Now this is so confusing. I thought that buying a condom would be easy!

Trojan? Fire/Ice? Durex? What the hell does "Ribbed for her pleasure" mean?

"Next in line please?" the cashier calls out. 

He quickly took a note on her. She's pretty cute. Fair hair, bright blue eyes and a plain white shirt showing her blue bra in the light. She looks fairly close to his age. 

Yet she looked somewhat bored. Well, this is just her day job. If she were excited, that would be a problem.

"That'll be $24.99"

$24.99? Whoa. Didn't think that getting laid would have to cost so much. I might not even use the entire pack!

Quickly, he just took out his money and paid. 

"First time? This night the night you've been waiting for?"

"Well, hopefully. I mean, I,I, ... how did you figure it out?'

"Well, I didn't know jack until you told me," she said with a teasing smile. 

Damn. I need to work on my poker face.

"That, and you walk as if you had a "Hi, My Name is Virgin" t-shirt!"

"Well, my name's Jon. Jon Stark, not Virgin. Even though I am one"

"OK, Jon. Nice to meet you. I'm Doreah"

"Oh. Well, if you must know, yeah. Well, tonight is not the night, but my girlfriend has been dropping hints lately."

"Ahh. Took health class? Know a thing or too about using one of these?" she said, taking one out of the pack. 

"I know how to do it. I ... tried one on ... a banana"

"Hehehe! Well, unless your schlong is as big as that banana, it's not the same"

Doreah then unwrapped the package, took it out and slipped it over her thumb. "You want to make sure that its secure. And that it's nice and tight enough that it doesn't slip off during the middle of it all"

She then took a look around for something. Quickly looking in the same direction as she, he saw that the pharmacy was practically empty. 

"Y'know what? Why don't you come with me? I think I have something that might help you," she said, exiting from the counter and grabbing his hand.

Her skin is really soft. And he quickly saw that she had a plain grey skirt. 

Now, they were in the storage room in the back. What could be in here that can help me? An actual instruction manual?

A _click_ rings somewhat loud. She locked the door.

Or maybe she's gonna kill me? I'm in a fairly dark room with a stranger. Yup. I'm gonna die. And a virgin no less. 

Doreah had quickly taken off her shirt, fully showing the lacy blue bra that the light had shone on. 

"You need a full hands-on lesson, Jonny boy!"

Uh, Um. Uh. This is something out of a dream. I'm gonna wake up now. 

Ow. I pinched myself and I felt it. This is real. This is so fucking real. 

No. No, wait. I shouldn't do this. Dany is my girlfriend. This is cheating.

But she'd want to do it with someone who has experience. Do it for her and you, said some creepy voice in his head that sounded like Theon Greyjoy's.

Doreah then took off her bra. Her boobs are so round and perfect. Her nipples a bright shade of pink and standing on end. 

"This exciting for you, huh, Jonny boy?"

Having his mouth opened in surprise like an idiot, all I can do was nod like a bobble-head doll. 

"Prepare for the lesson, then. Put it on"

Quickly getting the message, he put on the condom while she quickly dropped her skirt and removed her panties in one movement. She's as quick as a gazelle. 

She quickly laid them on a nearby desk while she gently splayed herself onto the cold floor, looking almost like an angel. 

"Well, c'mon," she said, "we don['t have much time."

Nearly marching toward her, he climbed on top of her and felt such a powerful feeling of euphoria. No wonder people talk about it. It feels amazing!

Doreah put her hands around his back while he all but clutched at her hips. What made his blood rush was the raw moan she released when his thumb brushed against a small nub. His hands skimmed her body, squeezing her breasts softly and stroking her skin.

Oh, crap. He realized he wad coming undone. No, no, not yet.

But it was too late. Both of them groaning loudly. 

Goddamn! Goddamn, that was awesome. 

All of a sudden, Doreah has a strange look in here eyes and a slight frown. 

"D-Did you put the condom on?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jon said, holding up his thumb to show her.

She then let out another groan. 

"You know nothing, Jon Stark"


	23. Golden River (Brynden/Genna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blackfish is given an offer that he could not refuse, not even if he wanted to

He should not have been blessed with such great fortune. 

But she would not have been happy with Emmon Frey. What woman could truly be happy with a Frey for a husband? Or wife really? Though they do have a healthy stock. 

Luckily enough for him, his father and Hos had convinced the Toothless Lion that a marriage between the Tullys and Lannisters would be more beneficial. 

And so, he became betrothed to Genna Lannister of the Rock. Frankly, all those years ago, during the days of youth where the dew covered the summer grass, he did not want to do it. Even suggested to his brother that he marry the girl instead of him. But Hos had already been married to Minisa Whent and he reminded him of their words. Family, Duty, Honour. Family comes first and always. 

Brynden Tully had been so uncertain about much. Upon seeing her, he had to admit that she was beautiful. Only three years younger than him and he had never seen such a beauty. A rather shapely figure, enchanting emerald green eyes and beautiful sun-kissed curls. Her face angular and smooth and her skin beautifully pale and unblemished. 

Not one to have had bedded many woman, he tried to be careful as possible. As sweet as it felt, she was barely a woman grown. She had begun to swell with child almost immediately and soon gave birth to a babe. His babe.

Little Lyman Tully had brought such a joy in him that he never thought he could experience. A small shock of reddish-orange hair atop his head. His eyes a perfect mix of their own; blue-green with small flecks of gold in them. Now a man grown, his hair is more alive like a fire. A skilled horseman and swordsman; a natural leader that many would eagerly follow. Now his own boy will be marrying. And Mariya Darry was quite a lovely lady to enchant him so. 

Not long after, he had been called to arms as the War of the Ninepenny Kings had commenced. Mayhaps marriage does change a man. Through out the entire time in the fray, as he fought alongside a legend such as Barristan the Bold, fighting Derrick Fossoway the Bad Apple, he wondered about her. Did she wonder about him too? Will she tell our son tales of his father's bravery and heroics. Will he grow into a good man should I die? Mayhaps that was what had motivated him more to fight more tenaciously; to come back home to his wife and child. 

Within two years, he and Genna had a girl. Lelia. Lelia Tully bearing a slim figure, and strawberry-blond red hair and green eyes. Armed with a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and freckles. Such ferocity and willfulness! Always running about with a smile that could cut like a knife. Many lords and smallfolk clamored around her like a hounds in heat. Already many young lords were inquiring for her hand. 

Jon Tully came after her. Tall broad with the Lannister's golden curls adorning his head but armed with the rich bright blue eyes of the Tully. And undoubtedly more Tully than the rest of his siblings. And just so, having been named after a good honourable lord like Jon Arryn. Already being mocked as Jon Justman by his siblings and his friends. Eager to please, always doing his best. While his sword skills are lacking a bit, his archery is superb. 

Tion Tully had surprised them all. Chestnut brown curls neatly framing his angular face with showcased his emerald green eyes. Sharply featured, and always a smirk playing on his lips. Quite a witty boy. Genna claims that their youngest is very much like her younger brother Gerion. Quick to laugh and smile, yet also quick to anger. He had lion's blood in him alright. He has much of Tygett in him. Barely a man grown and already mastering weapons at a faster pace than Lyman. He suspected it was because of his status as a third son. 

With his family have grown so fast, Hoster had given him Fairmarket as his own formal seat. The river kings of old refused charters which would have allowed towns like Lord Harroway's Town, Saltpans, and Fairmarket to expand and potentially become cities. Now under his rule, it bristled with liveliness that it had lacked. His banner, a black trout leaping on a blue and red striped field, swaying proudly against the wind. 

His household was as lively as his seat. Tygett took his duties as his master-at-arms very seriously. Whereas his captain of guard Gerion did anything but. And has become more of a nuisance with his randy and more bawdier jests. He had taken Emmon Frey as his steward to appease any slights he may have caused Old Walder Frey. Yet, he couldn't help himself from touching Genna a certain way in front of him; either gently caressing her arse or lightly fondling her breast. His squires, Lucas Blackwood and Jeffory Mallister, were good and able lads who had dared to make an occasional glance on his daughter. 

How is that he did not ask for it yet he became so fortunate and blessed? Yet his brother seemed to be afflicted with such tragedy. He liked Minisa Whent well enough. He could and would never wish such strife on anyone. To have died in the birthing bed like that. He knows that Hos loves Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure, he knew that a part of him is swallowed with grief that he lost his wife. Frankly, he would consider Hos's children his own as well whenever he often called him to Riverrun. For every child Hoster had lost, he seemed to have been blessed with.

But I would not trade it for anything in the world. 


	24. Creation (Gendry/Arya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best thing I ever made

Crying had become to ring around the castle. 

"Hmm. Let the wet nurse tend to her"

"No. S'Alright. I got it"

He walked around the halls of the castle. _His_ castle now. It still felt strange to him. 

As soon as he got to her, she somehow sounded more louder. He cries reverberating through the walls. 

Gently, he towered over the crib and picked her up.

"Hey. Hey. What's wrong, little one? What's wrong?"

She was so tiny. She recognizes him with one look, he sees her eyes and knows who she is. 

His child. His daughter. 

Her crying dies down a bit. Going down to a whimper. 

She just wanted attention, is all. Arya could tend to her but lately, Nymella's crying has her nearing the edge. 

Not to say that Arya is not a fit mother. She loves Melly with all her heart. But there are some things that he can handle better that she can't. 

"Just wanted your Pa to hold you? That it Melly? Just wanted Papa?"

Quickly looking up at him, she lets out a small squeal. It's such a sweet sound. 

"Y'know, you're the best thing to come into my life, Melly. After your mother. 

Want to know a secret?" he said, gently whispering to her. 

"I've made swords. Armour. Axes. Small knives. I've made anything and everything that men need for war. But I never made anything like you before. So sweet, innocent, pure. You look a bit like me. 'Sept the eyes. That's your mum right there. 

I wish I didn't have to give you a husband, no one will ever be good for you. You're the best thing I have ever made.  And the one thing I'll love more than your mother. You are everything to me. 

I love you with all my heart, Nymella Baratheon. And nothing can ever change that," he said, gently kissing her brow. 


	25. Compromise (Robb/Roslin/Jeyne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honour and duty are easy things to say but harder to abide

Honour and duty are easy things when you say that you will do it. But no one had truly taught him just how much harder it is to abide by them.

Father had tried to taught and told him that he must be honourable and just. And how duty, no matter how small or large, is something we must all abide by. 

All of it went away when she was beside him.  Jeyne with her chestnut curls, heart-shaped face, bright brown eyes and slender posture. And her breasts shapely and the size of apples. 

When the GreatJon and Maege Mormont had found him in her bed, they tried to dissuade him from marrying her. They understood but could not allow their king to fall from grace by marrying a bannerman of his enemy. But Jeyne is not his enemy; the Lannister's are. 

Instead, they told him to keep her around. Bed her but not to wed her. It was more of practice to the people of Dorne; something that none of his bannerman would really want him to abide by. But if it meant keeping his crown and the Frey's satisfied and sparing Jeyne some dishonour, then he would do so. He knew his mother was disappointed in him; he was disappointed in himself as well. But his men had tried to get her to see the bigger picture in it all. 

Constantly being in the field of battle, there is always a chance that he could die. Be it by a sword in his belly, a morningstar to his head or felled by arrows. Any child borne from their couplings would be granted land and titles. That placated the Westerlings and gave them more than enough cause to add them to his army. Wasn't much but more than enough. 

Eventually, he had been called back to the riverlands for his grandfather's funeral. And to fulfill his promise to the Freys. To ensure their loyalty, the Blackfish had negotiated a double wedding; a Lady Roslin Frey for him and a Lady "Fair" Walda Frey for his uncle Edmure.

The sept at the Twins was surprisingly extravagant for the ugly squat castles. He had to admit that Fair Walda was a pretty sight. Long-necked and slender with wavy flaxen hair. She had a pointed nose, strong cheeks and a small mouth that now bore a playful smirk.  Roslin is small. She has very white skin, a pretty face with a small chin, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. Her hair brown and long that it reaches her waist. 

By the time it is time for the bedding, Roslin lets out a small squeal. As they are thrown into their own chambers, naked as their namedays, they quickly hear moans and groans coming from a nearby chamber. 

"At least Lore Edmure is not with my cousin Ami. Not even marriage had stopped her from ... raising her ... portcullis for any man that comes her way," she said with a dry chuckle. "Even if she had lain with Black Walder, I know that she'll stay faithful to him"

She likely heard of his situation. Wondering if he will stay faithful to her. He would do his duty by her but he also had to honour Jeyne in some way. He could not marry her but their children would be Starks. But she will be your Queen, a voice in his head told him. He would have to tell her about Jeyne and the Westerlings soon enough. 

Upon promising that she will be his only queen, it seemed to placate her enough. They then began kissing. Her lips tasting like strawberries and her tongue still bearing faint traces of Dornish Red. Soon enough, his hands began roaming all around her body. Pinching and weighing her breasts. Robb's mind went almost blank as he entered her, only aware of how good she felt around him. Roslin seemed to like it as well, moaning softly in his ear in response to his thrusts. The walls around her cunt beginning to tighten as he began to thrust more and harder into her. 

"OH, ROBB!!!" 

Her legs had tightened around his waist, hitting the small of his own back. He then began to fondle her breast as he gently kissed her neck. It only made him harder then spill his seed into her faster than anticipated. 

* * *

There was little enmity between them both. Roslin and Jeyne reached a mutual understanding. Any child had with Jeyne would not displace any child had by him and Roslin. Starks borne of her line would be the Starks of Moat Cailin once the ward was over and properly restored. 

And they seemed more endearing when they were both together in his bed. 

Both of their bodies were equally enticing and tasted sweeter together. Jeyne's breasts were more shapelier but Roslin's were more pert and her nipples were brighter and pinker. 

That was something he could barely fathom whenever. A part of him wondered if Theon ever had two women at the same time. 

Jeyne would often pin Roslin down and lick her. Other times, Roslin would be behind Jeyne, placing her forefinger and thumb in and out of her cunt while she was on top of him, riding him like a horse. It'd be the other way around at times. 

Roslin and Jeyne had even made a contest of sucking and licking his cock. Milking him for all he was worth. 

Had Aegon the Conqueror experienced this with his own sister-wives? Did one compete with the other to see which he liked better? 

Everything else seemed to melt away when he had them both in his bed. The plans for battle. What tomorrow may bring him in the morn. Any chastisements.

He could not concentrate on anything else when both of them slept soundly on his chest. Roslin would often leave a small amount of drool on it, clouding his nipple with it. Jeyne would move in closer as if to mark her territory. 

Honour and Duty can go and fuck themselves. 


	26. Of Winter and Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was the worse thing about the Young Wolf? His skills as a tactician and warrior? The fearsome beast that ripped his enemies to shreds? Or the great blade of smoke in hand?

With a heavy heart, Robb Stark recalled the last memory and words his father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had bequeathed him.

_"Nothing will be the same anymore. But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You know that."_

_"Yes," he nodded. It was something drilled into him and his siblings since childhood. "I promise you, father. I will protect the North."_

_They had a similar conversation only a few days ago. But it seemed his father needed a repeat._

_"You have a good half-and-half sword," said Eddard. "I should know, that blade had been mine once."_

_Robb still had it belted at his hip. He unbuckled it and passed it over to his father. It was almost four-and half a foot long and heavy. His father reached for it and took it in his hands, studying the blade closely as Mikken would. There were some nicks along the edge from that day's practise but, otherwise, still in good shape._

_"I'll have to run it over a whetstone," Ned observed, almost to himself._

_"I-I will take care of it."_

_Shouldn't he have done it the moment practise ended? How he worried that Father would be disapointed for not keeping the blade in good shape and form. As he was about to explain himself, his father paid him no mind, his eyes looking to it with awe and fondness. Not even the faintest trace of attention._

_"I'm sorry, father," he said, uncertainly._

_Eddard Stark then jolted as if in shock. "What?" he asked, looking back up at him. "What for? Tis nothing. I'll have the blade honed again in the morning; It's an easy fix. We won't be leaving til the morn"_

_Quickly he let the matter drop. If his father wanted to fix his sword like the old days, he would let him. But his father did not hand it back, instead he weighed it up in his hands, getting a feel for it again and looking down the length of the steel blade. When he did finally put it down again, he reached for Ice and held it out to Robb._

_"Take it," he said, nodding to the Valyrian steel blade._

_It was the most beautiful weapon Robb had ever seen. A blade of the rarest, dragon forged steel. Carefully, he lifted it up. Still sheathed in its scabbard, it weighed twice as much as any other blade and as wide across as a man's hand. Meanwhile, Fatgher placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with almost a glistening tear in his old, grey eyes._

_"There you go son," he said. "This is yours now."_

_Dumbstruck, he almost dropped it. "What?" he spluttered, steadying his grip just in time._

_Lord Stark sat back down again. "It is our ancestral greatsword. It is meant for the defence of Winterfell and of the North. And that is what you'll do now, son. So take it and use it wisely, at least until I return."_

_Robb felt as if someone had struck him dumb. He shook his head, even though merely holding such a sacred blade in his hands made him feel twenty foot tall. But, his father waved his protestations away and picked up Robb's sword again._

_"It'll be good to have this back," said Eddard. "This got me through much of Robert's Rebellion and should serve just as well in the south." He paused and looked at him again. "Now, no more protests. Run along now: tomorrow will be a long day."_

He looked back to that day while he looking at the blade in his hand. My enemies will meet the cold end of this blade. I will defend and uphold the honour of the North and Starks. Raising his blade to the air, then lowered it; signaling his men to charge. Winter will surely come for these accursed Lannisters.

* * *

"They have my son," Tywin Lannister uttered in a less-than-pleased tone

"The Stark boy appears to be less green than we hoped," Tyrion Lannister remarked

"Green? He could have cut down Ser Jaime with that blade of his!" Addam Marbrand exclaimed. 

From the look he saw from his father's face; he could tell that it was a mix of his wounded pride and envy. Much of his army decimated by the Starks, yet envy and prideful about the fact that much of it was not only do to his skill with a blade; but a blade of Valyrian steel. That was also evident in the grimace his uncle Kevan had marred his face with as well. 

His father likely wants to take it as a trophy to present to his kingly grandson when they win the war. Should they win the war, is a more precise thing to say.

He could also see the pain in Addam's eyes. He was lucky to have made a rather hasty retreat. From what he had heard, Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark had been taken down by a cut from his collar bone to his navel along with his horse. Must have been a rather pretty sight. 

"Forget about the boy's pretty blade. His wolf is the thing to fear! I heard it killed over a dozen men and as many horses," Lord Leo Lefford exclaimed as well. 

"Is it true what they're saying about Stannis and Renly?" said the small-chinned Harys Swyft. 

"Both Baratheon brothers have taken up arms against us. Jaime captured, his army scattered, the Mountain slain. It's a catastrophe! Mayhaps we should sue for peace," Kevan suggested. 

That may had been the most grievous thing about it all. Word had it that the Young Wolf had used his family's ancestral valyrian blade like a lance; driving straight into the Mountain's head. And peace? A poor man's suggestion, Tyrion thought, prompting him to flick his wineglass to the floor. 

"There's your peace. Joffrey saw to that the moment he removed Ned Stark's head. You'll have an easier time drinking from that cup than bringing Robb Stark to the table now. He's winning, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm told that we still have his sisters"

"First order of business is ransoming Ser Jaime!"

"No, no truces. We can't afford to look weak. We should march on them at once!'

"First, we need to return to Casterly Rock and rai - "

"THEY HAVE MY SON!" Tywin roared like the mighty lion that he is, cowing the rest into silence. "Get out, all of you. ... Not you. You were right about Eddard Stark; if he were alive, we could've used him to broker a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, ... which would have given us more time to deal with Robert's brothers, but now? Madness, madness and stupidity! ... I always thought you were a stunted fool. Perhaps I was wrong."

 **"** Half wrong." Tyrion said, surprised by his father's "kind words" whilst taking a sip of wine. "I'm new to strategy, but unless we want to be surrounded by three armies, it appears we can't stay here."

 **"** No one will stay here. Kevan will head out with five hundred riders and set the riverlands on fire from Gods' Eye to the Red Fork. The rest of us will regroup at Harrenhal, and you will go to King's Landing."

 **"** And do what?!" Tyrion exclaimed in bewilderment and confusion as Tywin peered at his father. "Rule. You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead; you'll bring that boy-king to heel and his mother too, if needs be. And if you get so much as a whiff of treason from any of the rest- Baelish, Varys, Pycelle-"

 **"** Heads, spikes, walls." Tyrion said realizing where his father was going with all of this as he nodded. "Why not my uncle? Or Addam Marbrand? Flement Brax? Why not anyone?! Why me?"

 **"** You're my son." Was all that Tywin Lannister answered with.

* * *

"He's little more than a child!! A-a boy playing at war!"

"Yet this _boy_ , as you call him Mace, has brought Tywin Lannister to shame. Ended the terror of Tywin's Mad Dog. And captured the Kingslayer himself!"

"Yes, bu - "

"And what is it exactly that you and Renly have done? Other than play at court and hosting incessant tourneys?"

"I must admit, it would be more prudent to ally ourselves with this Boy Wolf, as Father calls him. Allying with Renly will not bring us a thing," her not-so-oafish grandson Willas said, chiming in. 

"What exactly was Renly thinking in the first place? He's a handsome man, no one can deny that, but he's fourth in line for the throne. And if he does mean to wage war on Stannis, no one will look to him kindly either. The Kinslayer King. He may have our numbers but Stannis Baratheon does have experience," Margaery said. Clever little rose she is. 

"Loras is what got Renly here in the first place," Garlan grumbled. He may be more suited to the field of battle, but his mind is just as sharp as his blade. 

"Admirable as ambition may be at times, Margaery would not truly be queen if we continue this alliance with Renly. Mayhaps ... we can continue toward something else"

"All of our men are mostly green boys seeking a taste of battle and glory. What better way to do that than creating an alliance with the North and the riverlands?"

"B-B-But Margaery wil - "

"She could displace the stoat bride that Walder Frey had forced on the Young Wolf. After all, what are weasels to roses"?

* * *

"I must admit that the boy is admirable to say the least," Oberyn said with a chuckle. 

The one thing he did not like was that the boy had taken the Mountain away from him. He wanted the satisfaction of slaying the monster that took his sister away from him. 

"The Young Wolf. He sounds impressive as he is handsome," his fair-haired daughter Tyene uttered with an air of dreaminess. 

"They say that his eyes are as hard as ice. Mayhaps his prick is as well," said his daughter, the every witty Nymeria. 

He and the boy do share one thing in common though; a mutual hatred and desire to slay some lions. 

"I know what you will do, Oberyn," said his brother Prince Doran, looking at him placidly. 

"Dorne must not ally with the wolves."

"Exactly. _Dorne_ will not ally with them. _I_ will," he said, grabbing at his spear. 

* * *

"If I may speak so boldly, Your Grace, it would be more prudent to ally with the Young Wolf"

"He made some small feats. Impressive in their right but small all the same."

"You do not need him my king," the Red Priestess all but purred to Stannis. 

"The feats the boy has done are impressive nonetheless. Not to mention, he has the entirety of the North and now the riverlands supporting him"

"Why ally with him when he means to crown himself?"

"Mine own sources, while not as impressive as the Spider's, Your Grace, heard that the northmen and rivermen had crowned him," the handsomely vain Lord Waters stated. 

"Sounds like they want him to be king more so than the Young Wolf himself!"

"King Stannis doesn't need the Young Wolf when he has his own kin in the Florents to back him!" said the homely and stout Axell Florent. 

"Brightwater alone will not stand a chance against the might of all his army," the elderly Lord Estermont said. 

"Stannis. I urge you to take this alliance. While Robb Stark cannot, you can arrange a betrothal for Lady Shireen to one of his brothers. Stark and Baratheon united as Robert wanted, and provide the crown with better ties to the North," the wise old maester Cressen said. 

"From what I've heard, the boy has already begun to raid and plunder the westerlands of its wealth. Lord Monford, Lord Celtigar and Lord Sunglass, you shall come with me bringing your strongest ships to meet with this Boy Wolf. The Lannisters have been making my realm bleed. I cannot forget that, nor will I forgive that. Send a raven. We make for the battlefield"

* * *

Robb felt ... stronger somehow with Ice in his hands. 

He looked and felt like a Stark of old. He didn't need a crown. 

Nor do I want one. I did not ask for it. 

Yet, he looked and felt impressive more in his right with his boiled leather and bronze-scaled amour, greaves and helm. And the direwolf's head etched on his thick oaken shield. 

Already, he had recieved ravens from both Stannis Baratheon and the Tyrells. 

From what he could make of it, the Tyrells (actually Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns) would be more than willing to ally with him, if he agreed to marry her granddaughter, Margaery.   
Stannis Baratheon's letter stated that he acknowledge him as his rightful king and that their houses be properly bound in marriage, offering his daughter's hand in marriage to either Bran or Rickon. 

But right now was not the time to make such decisions. There is a war to be fought. He'll have to bring it to his council, and deliberate it with them. 

I will take everything you have taken and more Lannisters. 

Winter will come for you all.


	27. Regret (Ned/Ashara/Brandon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps she will see Ned in her child, and she would love it just for that

She had been so stupid.

When the heir to Winterfell, Brandon Stark, had come to ask a dance of her, she nearly in such haste said yes. She found herself a tad disappointed that he had asked in the stead of his younger brother, Eddard. 

He was leaner and nowhere nearly muscled as his brother. But he is rather kind and gentle. While lacking the mischievous glint, they were (to her surprise) quite beautiful. How and why did she think them dull?

And due to her her own drunkenness and the "charming" words of the Wild Wolf of the North, she found herself into his bed. Yet, she was little more than a whore to him. Quickly sticking his prick in her; the only courtesy having done to her was _trying_ and failing to spill his seed across her belly instead of inside of her. 

He thought her a maiden and it’s not the first time she’s played the part to make these northerners (really, anyone born north of the Dornish Marches is a northerner to her) feel anything but special, but at the end of the night she feels rather disappointed and regrets not having danced at least once more with sweet Ned Stark, who had smiled shyly at her, all awkward in his manners, and had blushed a deep red as he said her hands were gracious. 

She'd always been beautiful, and everyone said that if ever there had been someone likely to make a good marriage it had been her. These compliments had always pleased her mother and father. Ashara herself had always been less concerned with title than winning herself a rugged, handsome Ser. With a wan smile as she wrapped her lavender cloak around her, Ashara regretted her naivety and misguided actions. She'd listened to so many protestations of her beauty down the years that she'd thought that, once she'd decided who she wanted, that person would fall at her feet immediately.

No, she was older and wiser now.

For a second she wondered if, knowing how things had turned out, she would have acted any differently? Did she miss her position at court? Her marriage prospects? No, not at all. Maybe she missed Elia's company and the other ladies-in-waiting, but position had never been at the forefront of Ashara's mind. She'd wanted love. And once she'd found love she wanted a family.

Fate had put both in her lap, and then snatched them away.

Looking over the sea in her chambers, Ashara found herself thinking of Eddard Stark.

If she had gone for the tamer wolf in a more sober state, maybe she could have had the family life she wanted. He would have been a good father, Ashara told herself. She might not have been inspired to the heights of passion, but one day he would make someone an ideal husband. He would be steady, faithful, and adore that woman. His eyes would never wander to another.That woman could have been her.

But no longer, as he had talked to her more coolly and dignified like a proud lord. No longer stuttering like a squire-turned-knight but now telling her he will make amends for what his brother had done. His eyes hard and cold like ice rather than soft as fog. No longer praising her beauty, making purely honest comments on how the commonfolk had not made songs of it.

And he was Lord of Winterfell now that Brandon had been murdered. Eddard would take her in, she was sure. He might not be her towering, powerful knight but he would ensure she was safe and protected. But more out of common courtesy and duty. 

Laying on the sick bed and hearing the coaxing words of her mother, she felt more disheartened. If it was his bastard, would he immediately come forth and marry her? Would he have married her to save her the dishonour of bearing the Wild Wolf's bastard? He likely would have loved her with all his heart, and she practically spat in his face. 

As she felt the pain of bringing her child to the world, she thought of the Starks. Mayhaps they're will be nothing of Brandon in this child. Mayhaps she will see the kind eyes of Ned Stark in her child. And she will love it just for that.


	28. Mating (Theon/Alysane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The mating call of the North? Well, I haven't a good fuck in weeks, I'm ready for one!"

She finds it diverting to take Theon Greyjoy into her bed. Lord Eddard’s ward is proud in many ways, but not too proud to stick his cock in her. She’s proud enough too, when his seed quickens inside her. Her own boy will have a Lord’s blood in him, though the boy will never know it, and he won’t ever know either.

Frankly, its not the first time. Only her mother knows just who Berena's father is. But putting them both together, one could easily argue that a Greyjoy sired them both. 

At least Lyanna had a playmate or two in them both. 

She remembered with a certain fondness when they had encountered one another nearly six years ago. Her own family had come to Winterfell regarding the matter of wildlings coming to the shores of Bear Island. Alysane had been training with some of the men as she the spotted the arrogant heir of the Iron Islands. Tall, lean, well-muscled and grinning as if someone had told him the grandest jest in the world.

It wasn't long until she had been in his chambers. In a short manner of time, he had her making a strange squealing noise. 

_"The mating call of the North? Well, I haven't a good fuck in weeks, I'm ready for one!"_

_"You want to stick that iron cock in my arse, Ser Squid?"_

'Twas a good night, and that night had gave her her son, Barthogan. He'll surely grow into a strong man. 

And it made it all the more strange when she saw him again before Stannis Baratheon. Haggard, and hobbling like an old man. A small fringe of black hair handing loosely by the crown of his head while the rest of it is as white as the winter snows. 

The boy's been through the seven hells and back. As much a turncloak and traitor he is, he should know some sort of happiness. 

Mayhaps, Bartie can put a true smile on his face before he meets his god. 

Meet his Drowned God and rest as a honest man.


	29. Bad Boys (Tommen & Robin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Robin try their hands at being "bad boys" to increase their chances at getting girls.

"Tom. you sure this will work?"

"Positive! Every girl likes and wants a bad boy!" Tom said, eyeing himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked good. 

"Wouldn't it be easier to just ... I don't know, act like bad boys?"

"Nah, mate. We gotta look the part too. And besides, you were do for a haircut"

"I like my hair long. I feel ... violated. I look like ..."

"Justin Bieber"

"You take that back now!!"

"Just relax."

"Do we ... have to act like your brother?"

"Which one? The one that is universally hated or the one that is universally loved?"

"Y'know. Joff"

"Joff is evil. We're not evil. We're just ... selling ourselves"

"Do we need the sunglasses?"

"Nahh. But we look cooler with them. Black leather jacket. Tight dark-coloured pants. We're golden"

Robin then pushed Tom toward the corridor. 

"Look. Right there. Black Aly Bulwer."

"C'mon, Robin. Time to work the bad boy magic!"

Robin slowly strutted toward toward her. Even from a distant, she bore the aroma of sweet honey and the dark eye-liner around her eyelid, made her hazel eyes all the more alluring. 

_Just say something. Say anything. Don't gawk around like an idiot._

_Crap. She's already staring._

"Hey, Robin"

_Say something, say something idiot!!_

"'Sup, bitch? Wanna take a ride?" He said, while pointing to his crotch.

Within a second, he felt a hand strike him across the face, his sunglasses dropping to the floor. 

As he went to pick them up, he saw that she had left in a huff. 

_Damn, even from a distance, her ass is great._

"WHOA! Dude, you got BURNED!!"

"OH, YEAH? Let's see you do better?"

Quickly scouting the area, he quickly set his sights on Lyanna Mormont. 

_Alright. Just be cool. Shoulders up, chin high._

"Yo!"

"Uh, Yo? Tommen ... right? Sorry bad with names"

"That's cool."

"OK, then. Then, its a pleasure to meet you again!"

"I think it can be a real pleasure if you play your cards right!"

Quickly, he felt a powerful fist meeting his nose. 

* * *

"Tom! Robin! What happened?" his sister and cousin called out. 

Both boys quickly looked at each other. Robin with his slightly swollen cheek and Tom with his broken nose. 

"Please, don't ask"


	30. Reverence (Edrick D./Elia S., Arthur/Elia M.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Arianne attends the wedding of her fiery cousin and the kind lord of Starfall and ponders as to what could've been once before the Seven Kingdoms were brought into chaos.

She never thought that this would actually happen. 

Dorne, while accepting of the children made of love and passion rather than simply ones by duty, would never openly marry a bastard. 

Yet, this is what she is bearing witness to. 

Both of them young. The young lord of Starfall grinning like a loon and her sweet cousin, now bearing a shy smile. 

It made her wonder of another pair of dornishmen long ago. Only one was a knight sworn to honour and duty and a mad king. The other was a sweet and gentle princess of her kingdom. 

She had once asked her uncle Lewyn,who was tall as a tower, if there were anyone that her aunt wanted to love. 

First, he had told her of the misadventures she and her uncle Oberyn had gotten into upon her venture for potential suitors. 

The names that were given to them were quite funny, such as Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips and The Whale that Walks. Even Baelor Breakwind had brought a giggle out of her mouth. 

Although, she might've been happy with him. Now that he is Baelor Brightsmile. 

_"But those were the people she wanted to marry. Didn't Elia want to love someone?"_

_"Ha ha ha. Clever girl. She did, sweet one. My squire, Arthur. She loved him so, and had he not been such a shy lad, she would've accepted his love"_

The entire war may not have been thrown into chaos then. 

Dorne would not has lost its Princess. Dorne would not have lost its legendary swordsman. Nor would it want to seek out justice with Fire and Blood. 

But it was naught to think of the past now. 

And with the future looking so bright. 

She should not be thinking on what could've been. 

Yet, she ponders it all the same when she sees Elia draped in a Dayne cloak of lavender and white. 

Elia Martell would have looked lovely in that cloak.

But they were gone, their ghosts no longer. 

Now, two children were in front of her, smiling and kissing and giggling to their hearts content. 

It is time to look to the future.


	31. Consummate (Tommen/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you trying to set a new record?"  
> "Well, what is the record? I'm sure we can break it"

She was panting. Hard and hoarse. 

Gods! He may be little more than a child yet he and his ... magic cock has the strength and stamina of a god.

Four times. Four fucking times! 

Damn, my legs. He has definitely milked me for all I'm worth. And I certainly must have done the same for him. 

His breathing is as hard and nearly as hoarse as her own. 

All of a sudden, she felt a tugging on her bare breast. 

"Darling, surely four times is enough. Are you trying to break some kind of record?"

Tommen's hand then slowly dragging itself to her other breast, palming it. 

"Well, what is the record? I'm sure we can break it"

My legs are so fucking sore. 

"Perhaps, in the morn"

Yet, that doesn't deter the young king. Her young king. 

His body arched closer to hers, cupping both of her breasts. His mouth on them and tongue swirling around her nipples. 

"T-T-Tommen! A-AH!"

Now, his hands gently sliding to cup her arse cheeks. The tingling sensation from her cunt and clit were slowly but surely returning again. 

"Seven fucking Hells, Tom! Just ... get back in there!"

Quick as a cat, he slid back inside her. Gods, it feels good!

Mayhaps my husband is right. We should just do this; all day and every day for the rest of our lives. 


	32. Little/Big (Rhaenys & Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Rhaenys loved being a big sister and the one time Jon loved having one

_One_

From what she understood, Daddy had another loved someone else other than Mommy at some point. And they had a baby. 

Daddy said that their little brother would be coming by sometimes to visit. Mommy doesn't seem to like it. Egg doesn't either and Dany says she wouldn't mind having more family. Uncle Viserys doesn't like it one bit. 

When Daddy brings him by, she quickly saw that her new brother doesn't look like Daddy. His eyes are grey-almost-black. His hair is dark like hers but more curly. In fact, he almost looks like a lost puppy. 

"Rhae, Egg, this is your brother Ja - Jon. Can you say hello to your brother and sister, Jon?"

Jon. She likes that name. 

"H-Hi"

Egg just shakes his hand and doesn't say anything. 

"Hi! I'm Rhaenys, your new big sister!"

Jon looks to Daddy and then smiled a bit. 

I'mma be the best big sister.

_Two_

"Hey, Jon, can you play against me?"

"Why aren't you playing with Aegon? You always play ping-pong with him"

"Aegon left to hang out with Dany's weird boyfriend. And I'm not playing with Viserys after last time."

"Which boyfriend? The insanely buff one with the long ponytail or the one with the blue hair?"

"Blue haired dude"

"He looks like he belongs in a circus rather than a international band!"

"Yeah. Let's continue this while I whoop your ass, baby brother!"

"Not if I beat yours first!" Jon then handed her the other paddle while he served. 

Fuck! He is pretty good. 

"So ... what about ... you?"

"What ... about me?"

"Why ... are you ... here?"

"I need ... Dad's help ... on a ... school thing"

"What ... school thing?"

"Genealogy ... report. Yeah! Point!"

"Damn!"

_Three_

"Please?"

"No"

"Please?"

"No!"

"C'mon, Jon. I've never asked anything from you before! It's just one date!"

"Its kinda weird considering the situation. She's your cousin. Not to mention that your family practically hates me!"

"My family does not hate you! ... Okay, well, Uncle Oberyn doesn't ... dislike you as much as before! And Quentyn likes you!  
Besides, she's been in kind of a funk lately, and I want to cheer her up. We could all double date, you with her and me with Bryce!"

"Rhae ..." 

"Please, please, please. You'll be the bestest brother in the whole wide world to me if you did your adorably cute big sis a solid!"

"Alright, alright. Just ... turn off the puppy dog eyes. That's my thing!"

_Four_

"Hey, Jon. Can I ask you a question?"

"Just did. What is it?"

"Its about that friend of yours. Gery? Henrik? The one with all the muscles?"

"Gendry?"

"Yeah! Uh, um, by any chance is h- "

"No, and no"

"Oh, please Jonny!"

"No! It was weird enough when I took your cousin out on a date. It was weirder when Aegon took my cousin out on a date. It's gonna get more weirder if you start dating my best friend!"

"It won't be weird. And I can't get him out of my mind lately. He's ... hunkalicious"

"Please. Never say that again,"

"PPPPPPLLLLEEEEAAAASSSE!! 

"Not gonna happen, Rhae!"

"I'll tell you what. You set me up with your friend, and I'll set you up with one of my friends! ... Friend, not cousin!  
You remember my friend, Val? I'm pretty sure that she thinks your cute"

"Alright, alright!"

_Five_

"I can't believe its happening!"

"Seriously, Rhae? I can't believe it hadn't happened sooner!"

"True, but still ..."

"Hard to believe? Yeah ..."

"So, who gets to be the cool one then?"

"What do you mean, who gets to be the cool one? Obviously, I get to be the cool uncle!"

"Oh, c'mon, Jonny! Y'know it's my destiny to be the cool fun aunt!"

"And I can't be the cool fun uncle? Every kid needs a cool fun uncle!"

"Which obviously can't be you! Hehehe!"

"Would you rather have Viserys be that 'cool uncle' to our nephew or niece?"

"Good point. Alright, I'll continue to be the responsible one and you be the cool fun uncle!"

"Thanks Rhae!"

_And One_

"Jonny, I can't believe it! Congrats!!"

"I know. I can't believe I did it either!"

"So, when have you guys set the date?"

"That's the thing really. Val doesn't really want to make a big deal out of it."

"Not make a big deal? Of course its a big deal! My baby brother's getting married!"

"Can you keep it down? We haven't exactly told anybody except maybe some close friends and family"

"I'm just so excited and happy for you!"

"Could you be this excited all the way to King's Landing Courthouse? We do need a witness.   
And considering you were the one who set us up together, I want you there. Please?"

"... OK. OK! I'm gonna be my baby brother's best man!"

"Witness, not best man."

"I'm your best man and you know it!"

"Nah, you're the best sister"


	33. Dance (Tommen/Shireen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it might be weird, stupid and such a cliche but would you do me the honour of taking you to prom sweet cousin?

The first thing he took notice of at the Baratheon mansion was his cousin Shireen crying at the front of the entrance. 

"Shireen? Shiree? You okay?"

"Oh. Hey, Tom. It's nothing"

"I know you too well. You never cry for no reason.  
What is it?" he said, sitting down and inching himself closer to her. 

"Looks like I'm not going to prom after all"

"I ... don't understand. When the Academy announced it, you said that you couldn't care less. Now you have a date?"

"Had. Had a date Tommen"

"Oh. So, ... what happened. But first, tell me who's the tall dark handsome dude in your life?"

"Rickon Stark."

"Rickon? My team captain Rickon?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised that Ric didn't tell you. I thought you're best mates"

"Well, not every best mate tells the other best mate every little thing. We don't gossip like you girls!"

"Ha ha, very funny!"

"So, what exactly happened. Considering that he didn't tell me obviously" Tommen grumbled. "Did he ditch you for someone else?"

"No. He got himself suspended and banned from going."

"Ahh. Knowing Ric better than you do, he likely gave someone a fight."

"Figures. Now, I don't have a date. And I was really excited Tom. He didn't even care about the ..."

"The burn marks." It was hard to truly look at his cousin without first noticing the burn marks on the left side of her cheek and down a little bit of her neck. 

That had been Joffrey's work when he was little and when Shireen was little more than a toddler. Dad can't even look Uncle Stannis in the face since, and can only do it when drunk.

"Yeah. So, now what?"

"What do you mean, now what? I can't go alone!"

"Plenty of guys and girls go to dances alone"

"This is prom, Tommen. You can't just go to prom alone!"

"What about your friend Devan? Or Robin?"

"Devan's going with Eleyna Westerling. And Robin is going with Myrcella"

"Damnit! What's with my mates not telling me anything?"

"Like that matters"

Suddenly, a thought came to him. "You ... could always go with a family member ..."

"If you think I'm taking Dad, than no way"

"I wasn't taking about Uncle Stannis ..."

"You mean go with one of my cousins? No way. Anyway, Dickon and Sam both have dates anyway."

"Now how about you take the hint, Sweet Shireen?" he said in a suave yet slightly sarcastic manner. I gotta stop hanging around with Uncle Jaime.

Shireen then gave him a strange look. 

"I know it might be weird, stupid and such a cliche but would you do me the honour of taking you to prom sweet cousin?"

"Wait. But what abou - "

"Broke up. Doesn't matter. So, how bout it?"

"... OK"


	34. Backstage Tension (Gendry/Nymeria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle of the Bands gone ... surprisingly right

Gods, he irritated her to know end. 

Almost everything about "The Bull" irritated her. From the way he seemed to swagger, to that strange lopsided smirk he bore on his face, and those insanely intense deep ocean blue eyes. 

It also surprised her that he hadn't broke his guitar with those annoyingly large bulging muscles of his. And just how good he is playing it. He's more suited to play drums. 

The majority of his band, the Brotherhood without Banners, irritated her to no end. Bold Beric with his suave nice-guy attitude, Arrogant Anguy swaggering all the way on stage, Little Ned Dayne with his "gentleman" attitude, but mostly HIM. 

What irritated her more were the "groupies". Massey claimed that they weren't and that they're just "good friends" yet she saw just how they fawned over them. Slobbering and drooling like idiots, hoping that they would "give them a bone". Carellen Smallwood; their "occasional" singer, Long Jeyne Heddle (more like Plain Jeyne Heddle) nearly swooning toward Gendry fucking Massey. Hildy the Whore and Big Boobed Bess Bracken practically pressing themselves toward them. 

Being the older sister and lead guitarist of the Sand Snakes gave her a sense of responsibility not only to herself but her sister. Especially the fact that her sister Elia seemed to crushing on Ned Fucking Dayne and vice versa. I'm that that friggin blind; I can see them giving each other fuck-me eyes; mentally undressing each other. 

It's also downright irritating that much of her sisters were interested in the Brotherhood; and their friends too. Sarella with the fat cow that often hung around, Tyene with that somber emo-looking dude. There is no way that she was going to fall for any tricks. 

"YO, NYM!"

Aand right on target. Massey. Gods, I fucking hate him. His ... dorky smile. Those ... perfect muscles. And those ... stupid eyes that look to be undressing me. Pervert.

"What do you want, Massey?"

"I just want to wish you good luck in the Battle of the Bands"

"Really? Good luck?"

"Yeah. May the best man ... or woman, win"

"I'm not falling for your crap Massey"

"What crap?"

"Don't you play your stupid nice guy routine, Massey! I know what you're up to?"

"I don't know what I'm up to, but please, tell me."

"Listen closely Massey. I wanna make sure this gets through your thick head: I'm my own woman, I will never, and I mean NEVER, be your groupie"

* * *

She kept panting hoarsely and harshly; right in his ear. Her legs wrapping themselves around his hips as he kept slamming into her body. Her ass nearly hitting the nearby speaker. 

"So, tell me. what am I up to?"

"S-S-Shut up and fuck me! HARDER!!"

"As you command, Lady Nym"

"OH GODS!!"

Yeah, hit that sweet spot, Massey. She could already feel it. 

"I-I'mm, I'm, I'm mmmmmmhhhhhhaaa!!"

"So, wha-what wa-was it, you wanted t-t-to t-tell me?"

"I hate you. I fucking hate you Gendry," she practically crooned to him. And, did I just call him Gendry?

"Hate you too, Nymeria"


	35. Egos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They worked up their brothers so they could stop pathetically admiring from afar, and ask out the most beautiful and popular girls, so they could get rejected and take them out themselves. But things fall flat on their backs when the girls actually said yes and relationships formed.

This could not be fucking happening. 

Nothing about this made any fucking sense. 

For weeks, Ned would pathetically stare off into space. In the morning at breakfast, at dinner, even at school. More so in school. 

It was then he realized just what it was. My brother was crushing on someone and very, very hard. 

Gods, he still remembered the time when he said that, Ned almost immediately looked down to his pants. What a loser. 

He did have to admit that his brother did have class in his taste in woman. 

Ashara Dayne, or as he personally called her, Ass-hara Dayne, is a fine lady. A godsend really. 

With those haunting violet eyes, an ass that was undoubtedly carved by the Gods themselves, and a rather impressive rack, there was not a single doubt that she was the hottest girl in school. Well, right after Janna "Jugs" Tyrell. 

Ned would just stare at her from afar then bow his head down like a beaten dog if she caught wind that he was staring at her. So, he decided to do his brother a favor. He freaking needs help if he was looking to get laid. 

Or maybe he did and just hadn't told him? No, Ned likely would have told him if he got a pity lay. 

_"I-I don't know what to say, Bran! I keep thinking of what to say and do, but the moment I look at her, it's like my tongue gets tied!!"_

_"You just go up and say 'Hi! I like you, hope you like me, wanna go out sometime, maybe?' Simple and easy as that!"_

In all honesty, he was hoping that Ned would fail. It was a guarantee really. Why would Ashara fucking Dayne actually say yes to him? 

With a little bit of stubble, Ned looks a bit wolfish, which could do him good with the ladies. Without it, he looks like a horse that needs to be put down. 

I would be a good brother for about two weeks or so, give him time to grieve, then ask her out myself. After all, no chick had ever said no to me before. 

Hell, I never even told Barbrey that I got into Bethany's pants first. ... And she showed me a thing or two. Which I kinda showed to Barb. Hehehe. 

Seeing Ned stutter in front of Ashara had brought him some joy. And that giggle of hers too. 

The biggest surprise came when she kissed his cheek and said, "What took you so long, Ned?"

Before he knew it, she was around the house. 

Lyanna adored her and Benjen loved playing Gears of War with her. Even _Dad_ actually liked her. 

It was a trick. Pity date. It had to have been out of pity. She was clearly looking at me, I was practically behind Ned when he asked her out. 

_"Actually, Brandon, I kinda crushed on your brother since the beginning of the year._  
_And, uh, you're not really worth my time"_

That had broke him more than he could admit. Not worth my time. Not ... worth ... my time. It kept ringing in his ears whenever she would come by to study with Ned. And she's almost always here. 

Now, the worst part was ... hearing them. Seeing them together almost made him retch. The chaste kiss, the Eskimo kiss; so damn irritating. Now, he could hear them loudly kissing each other in his room. What. The Hell. 

Right now, it is definitely worse. 

"I-I don't think anyone's around."  
"Good, Cuz that means ... I get to do this?"  
"Ash, I, I, w-we shou- "  
"I want your lips all over me Ned!"

Godfuckingdamnit!! Now I gotta listen to them bump uglies too?

"OH! OH, NED!"  
"ASH!!"  
"THAT'S IT, NED! CA-CAN YOU LICK IT AGAIN?"

Lick it? Lick what? What the hell did she want licked? I gotta get out of here!

* * *

She should've been mine. Gods, she should've been mine. 

Janna "Jugs" Tyrell; with her thick, softly curling brown hair, big brown eyes. And those massive tits. I could die happy motor-boating her tits. Her figure was pretty slender yet shapely and curvy in all the right places. 

And yet, she's with Stannis. Stannis. 

Stannis has all the charm of a lobster!! It's the main reason why Renly often calls him "Sea Monster Stanny"! That and, Stannis still made sure that he bathes properly. 

Whenever she came up to him, he almost always blocked out whatever she was saying; his eyes eyeing that impressively ginormous rack of hers. 

_"Robert. Robert!"_  
_"What?"_  
_"I said, can you give Stannis back his notes? I forgot I still had them. Oh, and tell him thanks"_

She always seemed to borrow his notes. But she was one of the smartest girls in the school. 

And Stannis was, still somehow, a dunce when it came to the ladies. 

"Damnit"  
"What's wrong?"  
"I lent Janna my notes on our Chemistry class and she did this to them," he said, holding up a lip stain filled with Arbor red lip gloss.

Idiot. 

He knew that Stannis was painfully shy and uncomfortable around girls. So, he had taken it upon himself to alleviate him of any uncomfortableness. 

_"Hey, Janna. I know that he won't do it himself, so I'm doing this on his behalf. My brother Stannis would like to ask you out."_

Stannis' face had turned even more like a stone than before. His stuttering was priceless! 

"I, uh, hu, that is, I,"  
"You need to work on your flirting, Stannis. We'll do that on our date!"

The hell was going on with the world?!!

Janna and those beautiful jugs of hers should be right in front of me and my bed. 

The worse thing was that the walls that separated their rooms are really thin. 

"Yeah. That's it Stannis."  
"I can't believe this is real"  
"Trust me, it's real. And so are these!"  
"J-Janna, I, uhh"  
"Go ahead, Stannis. Touch them."

That lucky bastard!!

* * *

"Hey Robert," Brandon said, taking notice of the broad Baratheon sitting next to him at the bar. 

"Hey Brandon"

"So, your brother's with Janna?"

"Probably burying his face in her tits right now"

"Nice. Lucky bastard."

"Ned with Ashara?"

"Fucking her as we speak."

"Nice!"

"Yup"

"Yup"


	36. Legendaddy (Gendry & Robert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you were going to become some lame suburban dad, why couldn't you have become mine?!"  
> Based off HIMYM with some elements from Skins (UK)

It was beyond strange. A moment ago, he barely knew this boy. Now, here he is, trying to ... take the basketball hoop off the top of the garage. 

"Gendry. Gendry, what do you think you're doing, lad?"

"This is mine!" he said almost possessively. 

"I-I don't understand"

"Tommen gets a childhood, a dad, a family, and a basketball hoop? No. No, I should at least get the damn hoop! I'm taking it with me!"

"Alright, ju-just calm down"

"W-Why should I? You suck. You're lame! Yo-You're just some ... lame suburban dad!!"

He knew that much was certain. He was no longer the wild inconsiderate nineteen-year-old jack-ass. How and why Ned tolerated me I will never know. 

"Why does that make you so mad?!"

"Because if you were going to be some lame suburban dad, why couldn't you have become mine?!!" 

He already had tears fighting to stay in. 

I haven't changed. Marriage didn't completely change me. I'm still the same jack-ass from before. Gods know I suck worse than the Seven Hells. I failed with Mya. Edric managed to finally hate my guts. Now him; the spitting image of his youthful self minus all the jackassery. I screwed more people than I known. 

"Gendry ... I, I know that I've screwed up ..."

"Screwed up? Screwed up doesn't begin t- "

"I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW!!   
I want to fix this and I don't know how!! Please, just tell me what I can do?! I'll do anything!!"

He just glares at him for a while. Then turning back to the hoop, still angrily trying to remove it, with his hands now. Quickly, he goes to his shed and got out his toolbox. 

"You're never gonna get it out like that," he said as he handed his son a screwdriver. He quickly took it, only to slam it on the hoop instead.

"Gendry! Calm down, and put the pointy end into the grooves," he instructed as he calmed down some listened. He might be the first Baratheon to do so. "Good, now turn it. Righty-tighty, lefty loosey, you got it," he said, trying to encourage him. 

He the slumped closer to his car. "I have no excuse Gendry. It took me years before I could look myself in the mirror the way I let you down. And others beyond count.  
It took a great amount of courage to send me that letter. ... More courage than I ever had...  
I owe you a lifetime of apologies and I just ... I have no idea where to begin"

His son then handed him the screwdriver quietly. " Can ... you help me with this?"

With relative ease, he got it out and he just picked it up as it nearly fell on the ground. 

"... If you ... ever feel like you're ready ... I'd love nothing more than to be a part of your life," he said with the"I' most sincerity he could muster. 

Gendry slumped his shoulders, reminding him _so_ much of himself and Stannis in a way he never thought possible. He then looked him in the eye, before turning his face and slightly pouted his lip. A part of him hoped that he would say "Yes". But reality's a bitch, as Gendry took the board under his arm and said, "Bye".

* * *

"You sure you don't want to talk about it, Gendry?" Gilly asked him.

"I'm fine," he said, while then looking to the backyard of his friend's future home. 

"Oy, Jon"

"Yea, mate?"

"You, uh, still want that basketball hoop?"

"Uh, actually, I was beginning to consider your stripper pole idea ..." he said trying to cheer me up, obviously. 

"In all honesty, Gendry. It sounds pretty awesome," Sam said, also trying to cheer him up.

"No. You were right Jon," he said looking to the backyard again. 

"A kid needs a hoop"


	37. For Honor, Not Honors (Edmure/Jeyne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a desperate attempt to keep the Freys in their side, Catelyn and the Blackfish arranges a quick marriage for Jeyne to Edmure. Edmure reluctantly agrees but worries that she is still in love with his nephew while she worries that he just thinks and views her as "damaged goods" and a burden.

He had to admit that she was a pretty young thing, about the same age as his nephew; his king.

Lady Jeyne Westerling is slender of posture, armed with chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face, and brown eyes

In that moment, he hated his nephew. Hated him for having bedded this ... Whore of the Westerlands. 

The stupid boy had gone on and bedded her. In grief and duress of kingship. Stupid, stupid boy. 

The GreatJon of House Umber and the Lady Maege Mormont had found out quickly as he tried to marry her. To protect her honour. 

Honour! Did he find it honourable to bed the wench? When did he have the time to believe that he should wed the girl; to protect her honour?

Old Walder Frey would not have liked it if one of his stoat daughter, granddaughter or great-granddaughter were rejected in place of her. 

Uncle Blackfish and Cat had all but coerced him to wed her. The Westerlings are certainly happy to say the least; having their daughter wed to a Lord Paramount. And they managed to bring about what little men they had. 

He almost wanted to say "no", and let her continue bedding Robb for all he cared. For all he knows, Robb and his sister Sansa are the last Starks alive. If what he heard about Sansa is true, then it would be better that he bed her and declare any child borne a Stark. It'd certainly help him and give the North another Stark to rally behind. 

And she was already swelling with child. His own grandniece or grandnephew. That was the one thing that they could not get the girl to do. But he would have to claim the child as his own. 

_"Do you remember our words, Edmure?"_

_"Family, Duty, Honour"_

_"Exactly. I know we've put you in such a ... precarious position. But the girl you will wed will be a part of this family; your family"_

So, with some unneeded haste, her maiden cloak of seashells was replaced with one of the Tully trout. 

Yet, as she swells with his nephew's child, it begins to eat at him. 

The one ting that his father taught him was that marriages were made to build alliances. To bring peace. If a man and woman are lucky, as Cat and her husband came to be, it will turn into something filled to the brim with love. 

Everything he thought went out the back of his mind. 

Mayhaps, she'll see something of Robb in me? Is that why she smiled so? Do Robb and I look enough alike to appease her? Will she be happier upon giving birth to her babe; Robb's babe?

No, it's best not to dwell on that. For Edmure Tully must do his duty. As his father once said, great or small, we must do our duties. And duty is a cruel mistress. 

* * *

The only times she sees him is in their son. Little Gawen, who looks enough as a Tully as his father yet bears the Tully name. The Stark wearing a Tully skin, who was once King in the North. 

That time had long since passed when the dragons finally came to bring about Fire and Blood to Westeros. She had heard that Robb was willing to relinquish his crown if it meant aiding the dragons in taking down the Lannisters which had been done. 

When the Long Night had supposedly come, she had feared for her family. Her little Gawen, her new husband and the babe beginning to swell inside her. She held such a great fear that all of them and her would die. 

Jeyne had once heard stories about the Long Night; the Eternal Winter, on how mothers would smother their babes so that they wouldn't see them die in the cold. With the snows coming in harder and stronger every passing day, she feared that it would come to that. She dare not watch Gawen or any other babe die at her hand or their mother's hand, but it was something that could happen. Yet, she could not even imagine that that would happen. 

I'd rather die than kill mine or any other babe.

Edmure had reassured her, as they found themselves stuck in Riverrun, that they would survive this ordeal. 

_"Do you know my ... our house's words?"_

_"Family, Duty, Honour?"_

_"Family, Duty, Honour. In that order, and always in that order. And you are my family Jeyne. I-I would give my life for yours if need be."_

Shortly after that, her husband had told her the one thing she never thought he'd ever say, "I love you, Lady Jeyne Tully"

Admittedly, she had wanted to be Robb's bride at first. He had taken her maidenhead, and she felt as if her heart was tethered to his. Mayhaps it had just been a passing fancy. Yet, something in the depths of her heart stirred when she saw Gawen in the training yard. He looked so much like the man willing to marry her and forsake his promise to the Freys. 

But she loves her husband more than she expected. She had thought that he simply thought of her as his nephew's "leavings" yet she wasn't that to him. She was more than that; she is his wife and love. 

Torrence Tully, her son and heir apparent to Riverrun, had a good and true heart. Every effort he made was an effort of note. His twin brother Tristifer may be more adequate at playing a maester than a swordsman. He is certainly more skilled than his brothers in martial pursuits but would prefer to place a book in his hands rather than a blade. 

She cannot say that she would be happy with Robb. It bodes ill to think of such matters, when watching her husband play with all the children; all three of them tackling him down while he laughs with such glee. 

With faint recollection, she recalls her family's words. Honour, Not Honours. Her mother would likely have sold her maidenhead to gain numerous honours from powerful lords.

It truly is an honour watching your babes grow with the man you love the most. 


	38. Sweater Weather (Robert & Ned)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Robert talk about their favorite time of year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired from the beginning of Spider-Man: American Son

"Oh, c'mon, Ned!"

"Robert, you're too obvious!"

"No one can deny the rich enticing beauty of summer!"

"True. But predictable"

"I know you'd probably stay in doors, or just stay under an umbrella while drinking a slurpee!!"

"So, would you be drinking hot chocolate on the hottest day of summer?"

"... Fair point. But all the more saying, summer is the best season of all seasons!!"

"Again, Robert. Predictable."

"Alright then, why is winter better than summer? Please, tell me o' Lord of the Far Frozen!!"

"Do you know what my favorite temperature is Robert?"

"Favorite temperature? I thought we were talking about girls, not science class!"

"Just indulge me a moment. Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit"

"... Might I ask why?"

"Of course. You can’t pick a favorite anything without a “why.” That would be irresponsible."

"O' Wise Sage of Frost, please grant me thy wisdom!!"

"Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit is my favorite temperature because it has been statistically proven as the point where most people consider themselves “cold”… and begin putting on more of their clothes. Tightly, showing and leaving much to our imagination, young Padawan."

"Wow. I think I like thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Leave it to you to make science _dirty_. Waitaminute, you're actually talking about sweater pu - "

"Yup"

"Ned, you saucy dog!!"

"Y'know what Cersei needs? A tighter sweater"

"H-Have you actually checking out my girl?"

"... Maybe. I think Catelyn might need a new sweater ..."


	39. Betters (Jon & Robb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU  
> Instead of Arya and Sansa having their sibling hatred/rivalry, Robb and Jon do. Or at least, both insecure towards the other.

It never occurred to him. Sure enough, the two got along well. Yet, here was Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell ranting like a madman or whining about it like a girl.

"... Always, always been this way!"

"Would you just calm down, Robb! What's the bastard done now?"

"Nothing. ... Nothing really. He ... kicked me into the dirt. Made me look like a ... a babe swinging a stick"

"So?" he said. Twas fairly obvious that the ever grim Snow was possibly the best fighter in Winterfell. "He beats you into dirt nearly all the time. ... Except when your lady mother's around"

"H-He ... he does that?"

"It's not like she announces herself every time she watches your skills"

Robb then sighed. "He's the best of all of us. Truly the best"

"You make him seem like he's the High Septon!"

"Because he truly is better than me. I heard Rodrik mention that he's the better sword than me"

"So? You're the better lancer!"

"Aye. When's a lance going to help me if we go to war? And there aren't many tourneys in the North."

"You and I could adventure south one day and show all those prissy highborn knights what stuff the north and Iron Islands are made of. What about girls? The girls of the North adore you. They'd drop their smallclothes and give you their maidenheads just to have one night with you"

"That hasn't stopped them from looking at him too. He may be shy but I don't think he's that stupid. Remember the last time the Karstarks came? One of the first times they did, Alys Karstark had danced with him, and his face was beet red right after. Just before her betrothal to Daryn Hornwood was announced, I caught them kissing each other in the godswood."

"Hmm," Theon hummed in amusement. Perhaps Snow doesn't have ice in his veins.

Robb then looked as solemn as Lord Stark. "Father ... The way my father looks at him? I want that. He is better than me at everything. Fighting, and hunting, and riding. And girls. Gods, the girls adore him. I want to hate him, but I never could."

Jon was his brother, as much as Bran and Rickon. But he could not help but feel a little bit jealous. He was the heir to the Winterfell and the North.

He is a Stark yet he looks nothing like one. He could act like one all he likes but he could never look like one. It was the one thing he ever remembered asking the Seven one day when he was eight years old. But neither the Seven or the Old Gods answered. They saw fit for him to inherit his mother's looks. Her fiery-red hair and crystal blue eyes.

He remembered crying to his father once and hung his head in shame that he didn't look like him. But he assured him that that his grandmother; Arya's namesake, bore the same kind of hair. Many of the mountain clans called it "kissed by fire" because it is considered lucky.

Yet, he could not help but feel pangs of jealousy. Jealous that Jon immediately had their father's graces. Jealous that he looks like their father. Jealous that he was and had more of their father in him than Robb could ever hope to be. And then he felt himself hating himself for wanting nothing more than to name him the Bastard of Winterfell under his breath like his mother would do when she was in her chamber. Yet, he could never bring himself to do that; for he is and would always be his brother. 

"Well, I wish I could tell you the same, but my brother's are dead. And they were the most insufferable pricks as well. C'mon, let's go to a tavern and put those thoughts away with some ale" 


	40. Three Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three potential husbands and lives of Lady Wylla Manderly of White Harbour

_Larence_

The Hornwood is as expected to be; filled to the brim with tall strong sentinels, oaks elms, birch, and a giant weirwood within the godswood of its castle; bearing an angry look by it. She knew that her grandfather had contested a claim to it, and she became the bargaining tool for it. Frankly, she didn't mind all too much. 

Her new husband had fought bravely, fought truly and as fierce and proud as any northman would. Fairly handsome to look at with his dirty-blonde hair, hazel eyes with flecks of grey and a scar on his cheek which extended close to his ear.

No longer was he the Bastard of the Hornwood. Yet, even as Larence Hornwood, he felt burdened and shamed. Burdened by the duties that plagued him as Lord of the Hornwood. Shamed for the position that he still believes that he should not be Lord. Even guilt as the elder brother he loved and adored perished in the war brought about by the lions of Lannister and their greed. 

"There are times when I don't even believe that I'm worthy of you. When I fall asleep in my furs, I fear that once I wake up, it will have been a dream"

"I'm not a dream, Larrence. I'm here," she tells him. Wylla then reached for his hands and placed them onto the swell of her belly. " _We're_ both here"

Quickly, he begins to stammer like a fool, and she shuts him up with a kiss. 

"You'll have another duty soon enough!" she giggled. 

By the time her babe is coming to this world, he looks as if he's aged about a thousand years. Yet, when she's presented with her baby boy, covered in red and screeching at the top of his little lungs, she looks to him. The biggest smile in the world etched into his face; grinning like a loon. 

For once in his life, he is not thinking about laws, honour nor duty. But simply holding his son like he's the most precious thing in the world. 

The septas oft talk about the duties and labours woman must endure. And she knows in her heart of hearts that she would do anything to see her husband smile like that. 

 

_Wex_

He's actually quite handsome with his tangle of dark brown hair with an almost feral face. He has a wide mouth, a sharp nose and a pointed chin. A truly fierce ironborn warrior. The Bastard of Lordsport. 

Normally, she would have objected to such a union; especially after learning that he was the squire to Theon Turncloak. But he proved to be valorous in his efforts; and had even safely led the wildlings to safe passage to the Wolf's Den; being the shipmate of Captain Cotter Pyke. The ironborn were always distasteful and dishonourable cunts, but he proved himself a warrior; having been knighted by Ser Bartimos of the Wolf's Den, and a marriage to him would be better than marrying a Frey. In spite of Lord Perwyn doing all he can to bring his family's name from the disgrace and dishonour. And with Wynafryd having married Patrek Mallister of Seagard, leaving Wylla and any children of hers as heirs to White Harbour due to the new Queen's laws concerning the importance of women. 

Their marriage was as prosperous as could be yet filled to the brim with laughter (for her anyway) and fun. When he smiled, he slightly reminded her of a shark. Her father Lord Wylis even had to admit that Wex is a rather intelligent young man. Caring even, as he held her hand as she was giving birth to their children. When she was growing as big as a damn whale, he held her tenderly and kissed her brow. Somehow "telling" her that he loved her. 

After one final push and being cleaned, she had been allowed to hold her sons. The elder of the two reminder her of her Uncle Wendel. They then discussed with some mild discomfort and distaste as to what to name them. The elder they agreed to name Bartimos for the now deceased knight who was part of their retinue. After pondering, she finally agreed and relented about their second son. 

Mayhaps their Theon will be more honourable than the man he was named for. 

 

_Jon_

She remembered him from all those years ago. Back when there were days of peace, and Eddard Stark was still Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He had come with his two eldest sons; Robb the heir and Jon his shadow. Her lord grandfather had invited Lord Eddard to discuss a trade of some sort while Robb and Jon had explored much of White Harbour. 

They had even trained under her Uncle Wendel and his cousin Marlon. Both of them proving themselves skilled and having promising futures as knights. It was almost disheartening when she and Wynafryd heard that that Jon Snow would be joining the Night's Watch one day. Wendel and Marlon were practically appalled by it. She knew her sister was more disheartened by it; as she kept hearing her whispering "Jon Stark" oh so sweetly and dreamily in her chambers. 

Now, here she was in Winterfell as the bride to Jon Stark; Lord of Winterfell, High Marshal of the Gift, and Warden of the North. Wynafryd practically seethed as she was to marry _her_ Jon Stark while she would be sent to the Riverlands and wed Patrek Mallister the heir to Seagard. "Do treat him well, sister dear," Winnie had told her just before her ship and escort set off. 

Yet, he seemed apprehensive at best. Even more so when his baby brother Rickon had returned properly with his fierce black wolf. The two Starks held each other so tightly; that the boy had called Jon "Father". Despite mistaking his brother for Lord Eddard, Jon didn't care, simply whispering sweet words that he will never leave the boy. 

With the help of her house, she and Jon are slowly rebuilding Winterfell along with the many wildlings he came to befriend. The giant known as Wun-Wun thought her to be some kind of Merling Queen; nearly grabbing and dangling her as if she were a toy. Yet, her new husband had calmed the giant down and whispered in her ear, "He's not completely out of the wrong, you do look like the Queen of Merlings." 

Winterfell became more larger and well-fortified. Taller and stronger walls. As it nears completion, she gives birth to their son. A beautiful babe with sun-kissed hair and shining grey eyes. When it finally is complete, she finds him right by the ramparts. 

"... It doesn't feel like Winterfell anymore. Not the one I remembered and grew up in. It ... It almost feels more like ... a h- "  
"A home?"

Jon then took her hands and kissed them, then kissed her brow. She liked that; how he could look the cold and proud warrior in front of his men men yet he was as warm as the hot springs in Winterfell whenever in her company. She was certainly glad she had him for a husband. 

"Our home"


	41. Family - Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Elia remembered who birthed Jon and one where he was entirely her own.  
> (Warning: Not strictly canon-compliant)

_One_

Rhaegar brought home another babe. She wants to rave at him. For having started this tragedy. But he looks as broken as he never seen him. 

Instead, he tells her that he won't blame her for hating the child; his child. 

Rhaenys is all but ecstatic; cooing at the baby that is her brother. 

Aegon who is nearly two years older than him; cannot comprehend the existence of his brother. Gazing at him with amazement. 

Even Ashara looked at him with such wonder and amazement in her eyes. She had been so silent since her return to Starfall. 

She herself finds herself drawn to the babes room as well. His features are all his mother; all Stark. Soft curling dark brown hair and beautifully dark grey eyes that look almost black that stare about her with such a wonder. But upon closer inspection, she truly sees his eyes. With the sunlight hitting his eyes just right, she could see that his eyes are his father's: dark indigo. 

In a different life, he could have been the child that she could not give Rhaegar. But that could not be now. For he was Rhaegar's son; not hers. 

 

_Two_

Elia watches them all; Aegon and his brother trying to chase after Daenerys and Rhaenys and her cat. Faintly remembering her mother's words. How it is always the children who suffer the most; during and after the war. All of them innocent, all vulnerable, and all deserving of a long life, protection and love. 

While just passing his fifth nameday, it seemed that he did not respond to being called the name Rhaegar gave him. Instead, he took more to being called Jon. Though, no one knew where exactly it came from; Lord Jon Arryn, Rhaegar's new Hand or Jon Connington of the Kingsguard; the Dancing Griffin. It seemed to boggle the minds of many, yet there was always a faint smile on the lips of the Hand or the Griffin Knight's. 

Suddenly, she hears a small thud. Aegon suddenly runs up to her, screeching "MAMA! MAMA! JON'S HURT!! PLEASE, HELP HIM, MAMA!!"

Immediately, she runs up to him, seeing how hurt he is. Rhaenys tries to sooth her baby brother while he is clutching on his bloodied knee. 

"Alright, sweetheart. Calm down, don't cry. Show me where you hurt"

Jon then shows her crying on how much it hurts. "Alright, tis probably nothing but let's go to the maester just to be sure, okay? Now, just take my hand. D'you think you can walk, Jon?"

Somehow, he smiles and nods through his pain. She takes him to the newly-brought Maester Aemon from the Night's Watch. She had forgotten that he was a rather skilled maester in spite of his blindness. Though he needed an assistant, better him than the grey rat of the Lannister's Pycelle. He tells Jon that it'd be best to simply lie down for the rest of the day. 

Just as she leaves, Jon calls out to her in his sweet childish voice, "Thank you!" She wants to reach out to him, but instead she gives the boy a touching smile to say the least. 

 

_Three_

It had been quite a while since she had seen Robert Baratheon.  Robert's visits were often rare; often welcomed by Stannis and his pretty Tyrell bride in the Dun Fort. That was quite a compromise that Rhaegar had made to placate the Baratheons. Robert was granted a new pretty bride, Stannis granted his own land and incomes along with a wealthy enough bride. Tywin Lannister's son Jaime was back in his "rightful" place as the Lord of the Rock, at the steep cost of Tywin Lannister himself being sent to the Wall due to his involvement in an attempted sack of King's Landing. Mace Tyrell had joined him as well, though that would not do any good to anyone truly. Young Benjen Stark had taken Jaime Lannister's place after the Young Lion had been able to tell Rhaegar of his father's attempted misdeeds. 

He was still as handsome as ever; in spite of the scar across his face that Rhaegar had given him. His bright blue eyes now glowed with hatred. His own Lannister bride seemed to eye her with disdain. But their son Gendry had surprised her. Eager to please, courteous in a rather roguish and brusque manner. 

While just a year younger than the now seven-year-old Jon, they immediately take to each other. Jon Arryn looks at them with fondness; seeing the ghosts of the two wards he loved as sons. His own grandnieces and grandnephews would come to the capital sometime soon to visit, along with his good-daughter Lysa Tully. 

The both of them screeching at the top of their lungs. Shouting war cries; Jon claiming he is Aemon the Dragonknight while Gendry proclaims himself to be the Laughing Storm. Jon swinging his wooden sword while Gendry swung around a miniature warhammer. 

By the time Robert comes to the training yard and sees the boy, he stops frozen in tracks. 

"Jon, that's my father! Father, this is my new friend, Jon!!"  
"... H-H-Hello" Jon shy said, clearly intimidated by his towering stature.

Robert just stood still until he bent down and took Jon's hand and smiled. "Gendry, why don't you and your friend go on and play some more. It'll be some time til we leave anyways."

The boys nodded and looked ecstatic. Proceeding to raise their weapons high and playfully spar. 

"He looks like Ned. A bit like Lyanna too," Robert muttered. She understood then and why Rhaegar was more distant to Jon then the rest of the children; did he truly remind him of his lost northern maiden?

"Still hard to believe that he's Rhaegar's bastard get though"

"He is Rhaegar's trueborn son, Lord Robert! And surely you would know about bastards, don't you?!" Robert Baratheon had not changed since she saw the callow youth of eighteen at Harrenhal. Still a mighty warrior as she had seen him with his warhammer after the Greyjoy's disastrous rebellion. Yet, even at seven-and-twenty was still the boy who thought himself a man with a cask of ale in one hand and a "willing wench" in the other. And to make matters worse, he had deflowered a Florent maiden while Cersei Lannister was still heavy with their twin children. She did try to hide her glee upon finding out that he was so inebriated that he fucked the "wrong one". 

"Why the hell do you care, my queen?"

"He's just a child! What's he done to you?"

Robert's eyes become like ice. And her heart sank. 

Jon had done nothing to her. She bore him no ill will and had come to think of Jon as one of her own brood. 

But he is not. 

 

_Four_

Tis a strange thing as they grow. 

Aegon growing to look more and more like Rhaegar; silver-blonde hair and deep violet eyes rather than indigo. His fair complexion often becoming dusky after days spent in the sun. Rhaenys looking like a proper dornishwoman; dusky skin with dark blue eyes that often look pitch black and a slim figure. Jon looking like a proper northman and Stark; long face, a lean build, dark brown hair and dark grey eyes. 

Though part of his face is reminiscent to Rhaegar's in a fashion. His face is almost as angular as his. He's nearly as tall as him, reaching his shoulders. Quick with a blade and quick of wit as well. Arthur has taken a great amount of pride in training him as does Jon Connington in his own way. Ashara absolutely adores him, along with a number of Rhaenys' ladies. Talla Tarly in particular would practically faint whenever he passed by her. And she's almost certain that Lynesse Hightower would take him, in spite being eleven years his senior; and married to Viserys. Though, she is almost certain that her babe Aethon may actually be sired by Aegon himself. He's too much like Oberyn in that regard.

Now as he reached the age of eight, Jon would be sent to his Stark kin. His uncle Benjen and the Blackfish would be accompanying him, and Ashara would be too. Is she planning on enticing Lord Eddard? I do hope not. Rhaenys would soon be going to Dorne to her own Martell kin then time in the Reach to get to know her betrothed; Willas Tyrell.

The royal party prepared to leave. Rhaenys came first to hug her brother fiercely and wished him good luck. Aegon then did so as well, whispering something to his brother. Rhaegar then came and hugged Jon tightly; whispering sweet words of love and affection. Something he may not have done since he was a babe. 

Just as he was about to leave, Jon ran up to her and hugged her tightly. "Bye, Queen Elia. Please, take care of Rhae and Egg. Oh, and Dany too."

She then smiled and hugged him back, all while her heart panged a bit from being addressed in such a formal manner.

"I will"

 

_Five_

Rhaegar had acted so anxiously; riding furiously as if his life depended on it. Arthur hot on his heel. Aegon, Daenerys and Rhaenys on their stallions, making a game as to who can go faster. All of them ecstatic to see Jon again. Not Viserys though; the "true dragon prince" as he called himself belittled Jon whenever he could, calling him a bastard and a half-bred ingrate. She hopes he has found some sort of happiness in his exile amongst the Second Sons. Though, Lynesse had been a tad miserable without him. 

They were close; one more hill and they would be closer to Winterfell. And it was just as ancient and strong as she thought. It looked as if it had been in the land for thousands of years and would stay for a thousand more. All of them greeted warmly. 

Eddard Stark greeted them formally, though his eyes betrayed his face as he looked at Rhaegar. Catelyn Tully now Stark, was quite formal in greeting them as befitting a lady of her station. Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell, who looked more Tully than Stark, bowed sternly. Sansa Stark had done a perfect curtsy for a girl of twelve. Rhaegar was initially taken back by their second youngest daughter Arya. Following them were Young Bran Stark at the age of seven and Rickon Stark, mustering as much courtesy as a boy of five could. 

Soon came forth the wards of Witnerfell. Theon Greyjoy, who had been under Lord Eddard's watchful eye since his father's failed rebellion and death. Now his elder brother ruled the Iron Islands. Gendry Baratheon had sprouted a couple of feet since she last saw him, and clearly thrived in the North. His cousin Gormon as tall as he is, but leaner and looks more like a scribe then a warrior, but presumably clever with a blade. Edmure Whent, once the Bastard of Harrenhal, looked as tall as his half-brother and cousin and in a similar fashion to Robert Baratheon with the exception of his sharper nose. Robin Arryn looked every inch like a young lord in waiting with his strawberry-blonde curls and sky blue eyes, and as many vale lords in her party had told her, bore a likeness to the Hand in his youth. Wallace Waynwood and Waymar Royce look like two promising knights. Domeric Bolton the heir to the Dreadfort is a rather pretty lad of seven-and-ten with dark brown curls neatly falling to his pale blue eyes. 

Finally came the Prince of the Blackwater, Jon Targaryen. Lean and lithe of form, a broadening chest, a light amount of stubble on his chin, and a certain sadness in his eyes akin to her husbands. He has certainly grown into a very handsome lad. 

Before he can even attempt a bow, Daenerys came close and caught Jon by surprise with a strong embrace. Just as he released her from the embrace, Rhaenys and Aegon quickly followed suit; Aegon laughing merrily while Rhaenys swept away the curls that wonderfully covered his eye that surely enticed many northwomen to his bed; if he were that sort. Jon soon laughed with them. Rhaegar then made his way to greet his son. Jon attempted to bow before him and address him as "Your Grace" but Rhaegar quickly put an end to that; holding his youngest son as tightly she had ever seen him do. "You are my son first and foremost," she heard him say. 

Suddenly, he turns to her. His body wobbles somewhat from all the tremendous affection bestowed upon him by his father, brother, sister and aunt. His eyes seem uncertain, almost cold as the land of his mother. He gives a stern bow and looks to her and utters, "My Queen". 

She wants to tell him that there is no need for such formalities. "You can call me Mother, if you wish," is on the tip of her tongue. She has loved him as much as any mother can. But the deepest part of her heart warns her not to do so. As much as she would like to be, she is not his mother. Instead, she places her hand on his shoulder and tells him, "It's wonderful to see you again, my prince," bearing as much courtesy as possible and the most sincerity through her smile. 

 

_And One_

Viserys. You stupid boy. 

She always knew that he was getting more and more jealous and envious of the others, but now he took it to new levels. Nothing would ever be enough for a true son and scion of the Mad King. The Sellsword King, many of the smallfolk called him. To have recruited the Second Sons, the Brave Companions, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and the Golden Company was quite a feat. Yet, he could not be content in conquering much of Slaver's Bay to sate his notions of glory. He decided to bring his vile men and actions westward. The worst of it was that the Golden Company was being lead by the last living scion of House Blackfyre. Viserys may be the greatest fool if he thinks this Blackfyre boy will be content to allow him the Iron Throne. 

She knew the moment she began to lay on the sickbed that she was dying. There was no escaping it. Her dusky Dornish skin now pale and sallow, her hair falling looser and sticking to her head due to the sweat pouring out of her limp body. 

Oberyn is the first to visit; taking her by the hand and pleading that she stay. Arthur comes shortly after, telling her of his regret in not asking her for her hand when they were little. Mayhaps in a different time if she weren't so frail, and he more bolder, that may have come to pass. Aegon then comes, bowing his head so low that she can barely hear his stiffed cries. Rhaenys had rode her sand steed all the way from Highgarden just to see her. Crying so openly and unashamed, her tears streaming from her face like a roaring waterfall. Rhaegar soon comes, offering words of sympathy and kindness. She briefly takes his hand, as she already knows what he is going to say and she forgives him. 

It's quite the surprise when she sees Jon by the door. He comes to her side quite uncomfortably, his expression as sour as a rotten blood orange. "Y-You have been a good, kind and gracious queen. And you ... have done me a great kindness in letting me know my brother and sister. A-And you ... you never treated me as if I were nothing. You've been good to me as you could have been. I-I thank you, my Queen. I will always be indebted to you"

Her heart hurts more from the words of her stepson than her illness. She never truly bore him any ill will. If she could, he would be the son she could have given Rhaegar. But now, she loves him with whatever strength her heart has left. He may not have been borne from her womb but Jon is just as much her child as Rhaenys and Aegon. 

"Having you here has been quite an adventure, and quite an honour, Jon. You have given your brother and sister as much happiness as you can. Even your Father, in spite of his melancholy. And even I, my boy. Now, please listen to me. Aegon will need you now more than ever, be by his side and guide him to be the king that he can be. This task I pass onto you, sweet child" 

Jon then takes her arm and gently kisses her hand. "I won't fail you in this task"

"I know you won't," she says, smiling as she can see the ghosts of her own mother and uncle Lewyn welcoming her.


	42. Righting Wrongs (Jon & Catelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had never done anything right by Jon: never a kind word or gesture to the boy all her children adored and called brother; never a kind word and took back the only kind gesture as quickly as she gave it. But she could at the very least do right by his children, that is, if he lets her

It was good to see his face. It was the face of her lord husband whom she loved and cherished so. 

With nearly everyone she loved and held dear gone, she found it oddly comforting. 

Yet the words he had told her burned into her heart and echoed throughout her head. 

"The only reason you are here and not the rest is because Aegon and Daenerys need the loyalty of the North and the riverlands, and I was not willing to bring Arya, Rickon or Sansa back here. Do you know what it's like to be plucked from obscurity; and being told just who and what you are? How Father - Lord Stark - ... the ache I felt when I heard he was gone? A part of him in my head; telling me 'You are a Stark', and the most shrill thing sounding like _you_ telling me I'm anything but; lower than the dirt I stood on? Yet, you could never leave well enough alone. You all but ran me away from Winterfell! Did you honestly think that you could say and do all of that, and there would be nothing of consequence?"

The face she had come to love and cherish now marred with anger and scars. Inward and outward. That steely gaze baring into her soul. And he was right. A part of her ached; he was a boy. A little boy who wanted and needed a mother. And she could never have been that to him. Her husband had taken her family's words more truer than she or any Tully ever did. Family, Duty, Honour; how she made an absolute mockery of them all. 

And what he had told her was not lost. Sansa had suffered enough of this place. Arya never wanted to set foot in King's Landing in the first place. And Rickon simply glowered more at her than Jon; calling her "Bad Mama!!" She was a hostage here; a well-treated hostage but a hostage all the same. Was this how Theon Greyjoy felt all those years in Winterfell? Fear had oft taken her body more than ever now that she resided in the Red Keep. Even when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, chills would go down her spine. Looking over her shoulder if someone were watching her.

Ned. Oh, my sweet noble Ned. She wanted to scream at the air, anyone, as to why he could not tell her such a secret. Yet, she also understands as to why he could not. Those million questions that likely riddled her husband with such guilt now riddled her mind. They were strangers. And she thought herself so in love with his brother. 

Yet, that was a lie as well. Ned's words now felt all the more false about him. Ned had been the better lord of Winterfell than him; and mayhaps the more deserving. And all her fears were right as well. Her lord husband had actually loved someone and held someone very close to his heart. The woman she thought to be Jon's mother. He grew to know and love her within the span of ten days; whereas she thought and believed herself to be in love with Brandon; yet knowing very little of him within the span of the five years they had been betrothed. And if what was true, a man who had bedded over a hundred women at the Tourney at Harrenhal alone. 

Lady Ashara, still as lovely as she was known, quickly took place in Jon and Aegon's council. Barely a week together, and she already treated him like a son as she did with the boy who would become king. She has likely seen what she has lost in him as well; the man she loved so. Whenever she would pass by her, those lovely violet eyes that were the wonder of the realm; darkened like the night sky when they were close. Does she truly hate me so? I would not have taken Ned away; but she cannot imagine a life without him as well. 

While the Kingsguard were sworn to protect their king, Jon had his on personal guard from what remained of the Night's Watch. Many of them diligently doing their duty by their friend and lord. Grenn Greyguard; the Dark Aurochs, Pypar the Mummer, Ser Arnell Greenguard, Dareon Mandrake; the Dornish-Hightower bastard and "heir apparent" to Lord Marq of Mandrake Hall, Ser Jeren the Loon, Halder the Stone-Head, Ser Alton Wynch the Bloodless, Sweet Donnel Hill; the Imp's exiled bastard, Ser Iron Emmett, and Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. All of them staunchly loyal and willing to serve him. 

Many highborn and lowborn had called the new regime the Court of Cripples and Bastards. Twas fitting in a fashion; Jon had lived his life believing he was the living shame of her husband. Aegon lived amongst the poor; amongst crofters and fishwives, doing things that would never be considered "kingly". Daenerys had lived half of her life in fear and feeling impoverished; watching her brother Viserys slowly lose his mind and happiness. And the moment one of them had dared to address the court in front of their rulers; that man was quickly eaten by one of the dragons. No one called it that again. 

Well within the year, Arya had come to King's Landing. She looked as beautiful, wild and untamable as she remembered. But when she calls out to her, she does not answer. Instead, her daughter gives her the same steely gaze as Jon had done. They are truly northerners; neither forgetting nor forgiving. She had once thought of herself as a proper northwoman, but that had been a lie. Now, her heart was as frozen as the place she once considered home. At the end of the council meeting, it was announced Jon's sworn shield Ser Gendry is to legitimized as Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Arya to be his bride. She immediately wants to rave at them for betrothing her daughter to a baseborn bastard; even if he is Robert's baseborn bastard.

Her father had told her to be weary of bastards. "They are evil men and women; filled to the brim with sins of their forefathers for not being born true. They are sinful, lustful and envious beings whom would take all that their trueborn brothers and sisters have. Never trust a bastard, little Cat!" Yet, nothing is ever as it seems as Ser Gendry and Arya share a smile and embrace each other. They love each other. Arya looks at him so lovingly in the same manner she had looked at Ned; bringing a pang to her heart. 

What surprises her the most is how truly caring Jon is. He undoubtedly loved and oft took care of the two children first produced by Daenerys. Little Rhaego; the White Stallion as he was called by his mother and dothraki handmaiden, is a rambunctious boy who would run about all over the Red Keep shouting he was "khal of khals". Aenar Greyjoy; the Sea-Dragon, was a tad shier than his elder brother. Often spending time with his own sworn-shield Cotter Pyke. Both of those two boys would fight to crawl onto his back; shouting that he was either a horse or a boat. Yet, naturally, Jon adored his own boys Aemon. 

Aemon Targaryen reminded her so much of him when he was young. Bright, wide-eyed, wary of others. His eyes are the brightest blue; filled with so much laughter and innocence. When she sees him trying to reach for his wooden sword by the tree branch, she daintily reached up to get it. But as she bent down to give it back to the little boy; he hesitated and stopped back. 

"It's alright. Don't you want your sword, my prince?"  
He takes large slow steps toward her before taking the sword and muttering "Thank you". And he then runs off. 

It all but reminded her of his father. Who would run off in tears the moment she stared at him. Quickly, she sees Aemon running toward his father, who was busy conversing with Lord Gendry. The boy jumped happily into his father. All she can hear from him is an apparent warning that he "stay away from that woman"

Something akin to Petyr's voice comes its way to hear head. "Were you expecting a boon? He hates you as you hate him! Don't fret sweet Cat, he and his brood don't deserve your sympathies. They never did" It frightens her more than the real dangers lurking about in King's Landing. It gets stronger and raspier; like a demon from the Seven Hells speaking in her head whenever she sees him pass by. "He's still a bastard. Nothing has changed. Now he's an ujumped bastard." "The King of Bastards!" But when it has been more than two years at the Red Keep, the voice sounds like a strange mix of not only the boy she once called a brother but also like her father's. 

More things have changed then. Sansa had finally married to Lord Willas Tyrell of the Reach and given him a heir named Brandon, Arya had given birth to a boy as well named Duncan, the Mormonts were given lordship over Sea Dragon Point, the newly made House Frost had been formally granted the title of Defender of the Gift, Jon's guardsman Dareon had been ascended to Lord Dareon of Mandrake Hall after the death of Lord Marq, and a celebration tourney was to be done in honour of the new princess and prince of the realm, Princess Adara Targaryen and Prince Aethan Targaryen; Queen Daenerys' own child and Jon's second son. Though, looking at Princess Adara's dark brown eyes, she did wonder if Jon himself may have fathered her instead of Aegon, but it was not her place to give counsel or raise suspicions. 

The tourney is a grand a lavish affair. And for the first time in a long time, she has been able to see her daughters grown so beautifully. Sansa looks more beautiful than her than she could have ever imagined. Arya, who she had called a wild and willful thing, has undoubtedly blossomed into a great beauty that she could never imagine. If Arya truly looked like Lyanna in her prime, then Lyanna would certainly had been a great beauty to fight for. 

First, the young squires compete in a joust. Prince Rhaego, armed with his own makeshift armor that barely covered his dothraki-copper skin, had made quick work of them. And naturally won the horse race, beating grown men and shaming them. Prince Aenar had come in second in the archery event but excelled in the ax throwing. Then came the melee, which Ser Iron Emmett had won with ease. 

Finally came the melee. Loras Tyrell was no longer the vain pretty thing that longed for glory. No, now he was as broken as many had been; armed with a burned portion of his face equivalent to the Hound. Yet, as fierce and proud as he still is, he somehow manages to lose to Grenn Greyguard, who had never even held a lance. But that doesn't last as Lord Justin Massey of Wolfscreek Castle in the North had quickly beaten him. The young Onion Knight of the Kingsguard proves his salt unseating many including his own Kingsguard brothers, but ultimately loses to Lord Gendry Baratheon. Her good-son then turned to his wife and proclaimed her his Queen of Love and Beauty, gently placing the wreath of blue winter roses on her head. Long loving looks between them. 

It brought about a faint memory and promise that Ned once made to her. Although, she knew that he was by no means a tourney champion, he once stated that he would crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty. And the following day, he had made a small wreath of blue winter roses and placed it on the crown of her head. "It may not be much, but you are my Queen of Love and Beauty". She could barely bare it and left. 

As she made her way to her chambers, she saw young Lady Elia Sand chase after little Prince Aemon, running like the wind. Suddenly, he bumps into her. "I am very sorry, my lady. My Prince, your mama should have words with you about you acting like a ruffian!" Elia apologized and playfully chastised the young prince.   
"Its' quite alright. Surely, you're okay, my prince?" she asked, kneeling closer to the boy. Instead of looking at her, he seemed to turn away from her.   
"Aemon, you ought to address her. Lady Catelyn is a proper southron lady," Elia said, though she didn't miss how she muttered southron in such a disdainful manner. 

"NO! No, she's not. She's an evil lady! She makes Papa angry!" he practically screams at her before running off. Seeing him run reminded her again of the times she had seen Jon run away from her during the days at Winterfell. And hearing him say those words hurt her more than it should have. And it reminded her so much of Sansa in a way. When they were younger, Sansa adored Jon as much as she adored Robb, then she made mention how proper ladies do not associate themselves with bastards, and before long Sansa didn't care for him and called him her half-brother. What more did she have to do to pay for her sins?

Within a moon, Prince Aemon fell prey to the pox. His tiny whimpering and coughing echoed throughout the Red Keep. Many prayed that the young prince make it through. Rhaego and Aenar crying for their cousin and playmate. The Big Man and the Burnt Flower of the Kingsguard stood vigil over him. Ashara trying to comfort Jon as he paces himself to death. Aegon and Daenerys tried to comfort Jon as well, but to no avail. The fat grand maester mentioned that Aemon will likely survive, but it will be a very long night to endure. 

With a tiny bit of luck, and the lack of wit from Ser Lancel, she managed to sneak into the young prince's chambers. Why Lancel Lannister was a part of their guard, she would never understand. Almost everyone beats that boy silly and he raves more of the Seven than the High Septon. Mayhaps that is what he should be. But she pushed those thoughts aside when she saw and heard the coughing and whimpering of the prince. His ragged little breaths, how his tiny chest moved with each cough. It reminded her so much of that day, when she promised to love a boy her eldest son lovingly called "brother", when she promised to give him the name of her husband. And never did. 

She then began to make a prayer wheel for the boy, as she had done once before with his father. "Mother Above, please have mercy on the boy. Father, judge me all you want but do not carrying out your justice on this sweet innocent child. Warrior, lend your strength to him. Maiden Above, please keep him loved forever and always. Smith, lend him your protection. Crone, shine your light to him and guide him away from the darkness, and to a true and righteous path. Stranger, I beg you not to take the prince away. Take me if I must pay for all my foolishness and folly. I vow to be as much of a mother to Prince Aemon as I vowed to be to his father all those years ago. If he and his father both would let me."

The stream of tears now flowed more freely than she ever thought they would and dripped to her skirts. Upon finishing the prayer wheel, she watched him. His coughing had lessened but he wheezed slightly through his nose. The children always pay the price in the end. 

"... doing here?" She woke to a start. Jon stood over the bed and startled her. The crown of black iron points and red gold made him look more fierce with the sunlight beating on it.

"I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

Before she could answer, a small voice was heard. " ... pa? Papa?" Prince Aemon woke, his eyes bursting at the sight of his father. Already aiming to leap and crush him as much as he could with a hug. Jon returned it with such love and affection; ruffling his hair. Just as he saw her, he put his face in his father's shoulder. 

"It's alright, Aemon. It's alright."

The prince than gave a wary stare but then his disapproving face transformed into a smile. The prince then took note of the prayer wheel at his bedside, taking it in hand. 

"The lady isn't so bad, Papa"

Jon then stared at her with Ned's eyes, and turned back to his son. 

"Yes, Aemon. The lady ... is not so bad. C'mon, let's go find your mama!" he said, taking him back onto his shoulder. And for a moment, she saw a smile on Jon's face and uttered something she thought she would never hear from him. 

"Thank you"


	43. Teach (Gendry/Melisandre)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GOT IT BAD, GOT IT BAD, GOT IT BAD  
> I'M HOT FOR TEACHER

"Alright class. Settle down. Settle down. Please, take out your notebook and binders, and let's briefly review from last week's lesson"

God freaking damn! Miss Ashai is undoubtedly the hottest teacher in the Academy. Her long hair the color of burnished copper and pale, unblemished skin. She is slender and surprisingly graceful with that perfectly-shaped ass, and almost as tall as him. Her voice is sonorous, with an exotic accent. A surprisingly narrow waist, a heart-shaped face, and possibly the biggest rack ever created. 

If she gave me the chance, I would so motorboat tho - 

"Mister Massey!"

"Huh?!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed you staring at my tits, Gendry Massey"

Suddenly, she got rid of that white lab coat, and slowly took off her tight red top, revealing a orange-reddish coloured bra which she was undoing. 

"I want your hands all over me Gendry! Plleeasse!"

"... Gendry? Gendry? Gendry Massey!"

Damn, just a dream. 

"Please read from your notes and explain to the class what stoichiometry is"

Oh, damnit. Did she notice that I was practically staring at her boobs? Make it up, Massey! And look at your boobs, - notes, damnit notes!! Look at your notes!!  
"Stoichiometry is the calculation of relative quantities of reactants and products in chemical reactions. Stoichiometry measures these quantitative relationships, and is used to determine the amount of products/reactants that are produced/needed in a given reaction."

"Very good. Now, let's see ... Devan. Can you tell us what stoichiometry is based or founded upon?"

"Stoichiometry is founded on the law of conservation of mass where the total mass of the reactants equals the total mass of the products leading to the insight that the relations among quantities of reactants and products typically form a ratio of positive integers."

Devan Seaworth. Like a little worm having gotten into this class. Particularly a suck-up, especially since that he gave a speech how Miss Ashai inspired him to be a chemist. Kiss-ass. He didn't miss how his hazel eyes were trying not to look at her boobs too. Then again, how could you not! They are clearly the sixth and seventh wonders of the world. "Meaning that if the amounts of the separate reactants are known, then the amount of the product can be calculated. Conversely, if one reactant has a known quantity and the quantity of product can be empirically determined, then the amount of the other reactants can also be calculated." 

"Very good. Now, let's delve into the lesson. Before the bell rang, we were discussing reaction stoichiometry. Do take notes, this will surely be on your midterms. Reaction stoichiometry is ..."

The class slowly but eventually ended. Suddenly, Grenn and Jon practically pounded him to the ground. 

"Oy, mate. C'mon, you're gonna be late for practice. We can't have it without the star of the show!" Jon said. 

"Y-Yea. C'mon, lets go practice"

"Y'know it ain't ever gonna happen, Massey"

"Please, do enlighten me Greygard. What's never gonna happen?"

"You. Her. Alone. Fucking. It's just a fantasy"

"Grenn's right mate. I can't even imagine how many times I woke up to you moaning her name and saw your hand rig - "

"Shuddup, Jon!"

Rugby practice had done him some good though. It definitely helped distract him from thinking of her. Her beautiful heart-shaped face. Her stunning blue eyes that almost looked red in a certain light. Her - 

"Ughh!!"

He fell down hard, clutching his stomach then his rib. Coach Donal then helped him up asking if he was alright. "Alright then. THEN GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSEHOLE AND IN THE GAME, LAD!!"

* * *

Class had gone by the same as always. Yet, chemistry seemed to be going slower. In spite of the fact that it was his last class of the day. 

"Gendry Massey, can you stay after class. I need to talk to you concerning your last test"

Oh, great. I know that I'm not exactly the best student in the class like Devan but I'm not the worst either. Lommy got his green hands for a reason.

"is there a problem? I've been studying really hard, I swear"

"Oh, that's pretty evident. But I need to talk to you about it nonetheless." She then sat down by one of the lab tables to show him to his grade. 79 percent, not bad. 

"Gendry, you actually would have gotten around 85 to 88 percent. You have improved, but I had to deduct points due to some ... technical difficulties"

Technical difficulties? "T-Technical difficulties? Wha-Whaddya mean by that?"

"Well, like this one here. You drew a water molecule perfectly, although a bit large, even the shared protons but you forgot to label the molecules themselves. Here, 1, 1, then 8" Frankly, the only reason I'd been able to draw it so well was because I imagined her bare chest. 

"And this one. This question about the chemicals making up perspiration. You would have gotten the full four points but on the periodic table Potassium is K, not P. P is phosphorous, one of the most hottest elements of the planet" 

Yup, I'm feeling pretty hot right now ...

"Gendry? Is something wrong? You seem to be perspirating quite a lot right now"

"Uh nothing. Ju-Just a ... a tiny bit frustrated."

"You also made some minor grammatical errors concerning the naming of the elements too, which cost some points. I'm not a grammar Nazi, or whatever you kids say, but I don't make the rules for that."

Seven fucking hells. Her top is cut so damn low I can almost see her nips. 

"So, just study a bit harder. And you can keep playing rugby. I've seen you guys play, and I've got to say, you got raw talent on your hands"

"R-R-Really?"

"Of course. You're bound to get a scholarship which will be great help in getting you in college. I was definitely mad for it back in my college days, and dated quite a few rugby players"

"Really? I didn't think you'd go for the brawny kinda people. You just seem so damn ... sophisticated."

"Well, I had a lot of growing up to do to become the woman I am now. And I had already sown much of my "wild oates" in my day," she laughed and smiled a bit. Both those things made her even more beautiful. 

"'Tis a shame really. If I were a couple years younger, or if you were a couple years older, I would have totally dated you back in my college days," she said almost wistfully. She seemed to be looking away into some distant space. Instead she leant in and kissed him.  
  
Gendry's eyes widened and opened his mouth to object. _Waitaminute, why the hell am I saying no?_ Instead he let her tongue into her mouth. She tasted so damn hot, he thought. Her breath is sweet and equally spicy.  
  
One of her hand’s griped his head firmly holding it in place while her tongue delved into his mouth. The other went exploring, tracing the lines of his chest lower and lower. Excitement rushed through Gendry, barely understanding why Ms. Ashai was doing this and at that second he couldn’t much care. This felt natural and right and good. So very good. 

"M-M-Miss Ashai ..."  
"Melony. Please, call me Melony"  
"Melony ..."  
  
Melony quickly stripped him of his clothes, as easily as she stepped out her lab-coat and bright red top and out of the exotically enticing heart-shaped bra, which had clearly covered her boobs and much of her taut stomach. Everything about her is so undeniably breathtaking, from her lips to her curves. Everything was moving so fast yet it strangely felt like time was slowing down for them. Gendry then placed her on top of the table and he quickly kissed her navel, making her moan a bit.  Melony didn't waste a minute in getting on top of him, and he could only let out a ragged gasp of pleasure as she sank herself down on him.  
  
She rode him, rolling her hips so the friction sent sparks of pleasure through him, further tightening his already tight stomach with tension. Her hands roved his chest and arms and her touch spread warmth throughout his body. The look she was giving him is filled with intensity, determination and passion. Yet, she would make small noises that sounded like she was a mix of a moan of pleasure and a yawn from the stress of the day.   
  
The noises she made completely fascinated him. _Ms. Ashai_ always seemed so controlled and calm enough that she could brave a storm. One of the things that made her look almost otherworldly. The noises that _Melony_ made told another story. They spurred him into action; reaching to squeeze those boobs of hers as imagined. They were full and soft and were capped with bright pink nipples hardened into peaks.  
  
Melony groaned again, her hands found his head and pulled it towards her, moving Gendry to a more upright position. His arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her movements balanced on him while his face ended up buried in her tits. Kissing and sucking at them eagerly. Melony's grip tightened on his head and she threw her head back and half-screamed as she tightened and clenched around him in pleasure.  
  
The scream was like setting a flint to kindling or witness a campfire made and burst forth; setting his desire ablaze. She collapsed weakly into his arms and he turned, pushing her down onto the lab-table so their positions were reversed.  
  
Her legs were spread and hooked over his hips as he drove into her. He could hardly help himself now. His mouth closed down over hers, and his hips working like pistons thrusting into her. Her flesh was hot beneath him and releasing her lips he buried his head in her fiery copper hair.  
  
“Gendry. Gendry. GENDRY!” He could hear her moan, almost out of control as he was now.  
  
“M-Melony!” He moaned her name as he came, shooting a hot spurt of cum into her a few last hard thrusts.

"Melony. Miss Ashai..."

"Gendry. Gendry. Gendry ..."

"GENDRY, WAKE THE FUCK UP MAN!!"

Suddenly, he felt himself awake. Damnit all. Just a dream. But a sweet dream. ... And why's my hand a ...

"Dude. You were skinning your sausage ... in your sleep. You need to get laid my friend. Maybe Margaery Tyrell will let you into her pants?"

"Huh. Maybe. If Margaery Tyrell were haunting my dreams," he muttered under his breath

* * *

She found herself waking up to a mess of her own making. Her own damn cum. 

Damn. Why did that boy have to be do damn fine? 

Maybe they could actually do the dirty once he was no longer in her class.

Gods, I want those hands on my tits.


	44. Double Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was almost every man's dream that his children marry the children of their best friends. And for that, Ned is truly happy and grateful that they will be happy with the person they love the most

He honestly couldn't believe that it was happening. Not just the fact that he was in a strangely unique double wedding, but the fact that part of the wedding belongs to his daughter. Not his ever sweet and beautiful daughter Sansa, but the wild and untamable Arya.

The girl who found anything remotely feminine to be disgusting. Who would make faces, sticking out her tongue and pretend to retch, and mock Sansa and Robb when they went out on dates. Not once did he imagine it would be her, and so soon. When he first heard that her boyfriend proposed to her, and that she said yes, he immediately feared the worse and thought that Gendry proposed because she was pregnant. 

It was still strange that Gendry was actually the son of his old college roommate Robert Baratheon and his college "sweetheart" Cersei Lannister. He looked so much like Robert yet was nothing like him. He had Robert's coal-dark hair and resplendent blue eyes, if not just an inch shorter than him. Polite, mild-mannered if not a bit brash and a penchant for rather sarcastic humour and dry wit. Looking at them and looking at him, he wondered if he truly got the best of the Baratheons and the Lannisters?

The bigger surprise was the fact that his eldest son had also announced himself to be engaged as well. He knew Jon all too well, yet that took him completely off guard. Jon reminded him so much of himself during his youth. Lean, long-faced, rather solemn, and almost rarely smiling. When he brought home his fiance, he was surprised that it was Meera Reed. He hadn't seen her since she was little more than six-years-old, trying to catch frogs and dragonflies. He and Howland, his old neighbor hadn't hung around after college, making it all the more surprising. Meera's hair is long and brown and she clearly got her eyes from Howland; moss green. 

When they had announced their wedding dates, rather than argue about it, they agreed to have them both on that date. Meera and Arya immediately clicked and Jon and Gendry had already been best mates. It was almost like seeing him and Robert again, except that Jon was a bit more of a troublemaker and Gendry the more steady and cautious one. Jon clearly got his more adventurous side from Ashara.

It was apparent as to why they loved each other. Gendry helped keep Arya a bit tame, and could easily keep up with her on any topic to debate. Hard to believe that he wasn't the debate team captain. Jon and Meera both had a love for adventure and the outdoors. Hiking, fishing, running. Yet, both immensely traditional to the ways of the North. 

Robert decided to spare no expense. As extravagant as he tried to make it, Gendry respectfully pleaded for his father to take it down a notch. Soon enough, everything started to seem so real. Jon asked Robb to be his best man, as Gendry and he were getting married at the same time. Arya actually asking Sansa to be her maid of honour. Rickon acting ecstatic about being a groomsmen. Catelyn gushing over Arya and practically crying upon seeing her. He and Howland reminiscing and reconnecting as friends. 

All of it made his heart swell. 

Now, here he was, escorting his daughter down the aisle as Howland was doing the same. Both of the boys looked nervous. He quickly saw Ashara in one of the seats, wiping a tear away. Catelyn doing the same. Rickon trying to adjust his collar a bit as it apparently itched. 

"Can I say something, Dad?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"As nerve-wracking as this is, I-I'm pretty ... happy"

"So am I, luv"

His heart began to ache as he watched them say the words, and all of them take their respective spouses hands. His children would be having children of their own. 

They're no longer the babes I knew and cherished.


	45. Oh Sweet Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerion was always everyone's favorite uncle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerion made japes. Better to mock the game than to play and lose

He always knew that Tywin was capable of doing disasterous deeds but he had taken it too far. To have done what he did to his own son ... He could never understand him. From what he had seen, Tywin detested the boy for being a dwarf and taking Joanna from him. He needs to remove the stick up his arse. Gerion Lannister may have been the japist of the family, but even he knew that the birthing bed was a battlefield all the same; even though it was more for the woman. 

Gerion had found the girl badly bruised in mind and spirit; she flinched from sunlight and new faces. Gerion’s eyes widened and blazed forth, like those of a lion. The girl seemed to revive a little, the farther away they got from the Rock. The girl spoke, in whispers, of how she and Tyrion had met and married; that she had only planned to come to Lannisport to work as a maid or serving-girl at an inn; that she had been followed by brigands, who would have harmed her, if the two lordlings had not rescued her; that Tyrion had been kind and gentle to her, before…

It was a few months after, when Gerion went to check on the girl, was when she informed him that she was with child. She was more horrified then him; it could not be certain whose child it was—that of some guardsman who had raped the poor girl or of Tyrion, who had been forced to watch and participate by his father. By the time he found a maester in Lannisport, it was too late, the grey rat said, to rid the girl of the child. Of course, he would care for the girl, but they would have to arrange for the fostering of the child.

Being the younger, unmarried brother, the logical course of action were to claim the child as his bastard and have it brought up at the Rock. Both he and the girl, Tysha, hoped it would be a boy; it would only be correct to bring him up at the Rock. After all, Tywin was, in one way or another, responsible for his conception.

As she came to term with her child, she became more wary. Millions of questions marring her head. Would the child look like her? Like Tyrion, the boy they both adored? Or take after one of the many men who brought this misfortune upon this poor girl?

"I am certain that, no matter what, this child would bring about tremendous joy to you. It's no sin to bring about a child."

"Joy. I think I like that for the babe. If it were a girl. If it's a boy, I would name it Ty."

Ty was a simple name. But the boy would have to endure a simple life if likely. If his plans go through, then a bastard's life. A Lannister bastard.

As the babe decided to come, she had a hard time of it; she was only a girl of five-and-ten. She laboured hard and brought forth her child—a girl. She did not thrive after the birth, —she was ill with fever, unable to feed the child and unlikely to live. 

"Tysha. Tysha, please wake up. Look, look at your sweet Joy…”

She looked at the girl, a smile plastered on her face from the look of the girl. She was the child she had hoped for; a child with the boy she called husband. She was all Lannister with her light blonde fuzz on her head and bright green eyes. “Joy. Hello, sweet Joy” Tysha said faintly as she caressed her. “You look like your papa. And your mama … Mama loves you very, very much. Very, very much ...”

Her eyes grew more heavy by the second. As he tried to keep her awake, it was to no avail in the end. Her grey eyes shut forever, and her daughter roared with anguish, almost knowing that her mother was gone. 

All that was left was the wetnruse he brought for her, ... and his promise. It won't be much, but he promised the girl that her child would have a life. Much like Tywin, I keep my promises as well. 

Let this girl have all the joy that she was promised and more.


	46. Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Cersei wills herself to allow her first-born son to be born, and the game changers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Such a little thing. A bird without feathers. They came to take his body away and Robert held me. I screamed and I battled, but he held me. That little bundle. They took him away and I never saw him again."

She felt nothing but pain and agony trying to birth her firstborn. The birth was painful, perhaps the only part of having children she disliked. Making the child was fun, carrying the child within her was something akin to a religious experience for her, but the birth was hell. In the thirteen hours she was in labour, Cersei came to the conclusion, that the ultimate torture was childbirth. She vowed during the eighth hour to never have children again. By the tenth she was begging for death. 

He was silent, which worried her, but he was lively. Little pink arms flailing and grabbing hold of her hair, legs kicking out as they had whilst he was inside her. Blue eyes bright and wide, taking her in, and the little tuft of already think black hair was slicked close to his head

"Push harder Your Grace. The babe is almost here!" said Maester Pycelle.

 _You said that nearly an hour ago, you grey-sunken cunt!_ With one final push of pain and hope she let out. But then it was over. 

"Congratulations Your Grace. A healthy baby boy, a-and heir t-to th-the throne."

"Hand him here Maester I want to see my son." The maester placed her perfect little boy in her arms, and Cersei cried tears of pure joy. She'd thought carrying the child inside her was amazing, but holding him in her arms was life affirming. As she looked down at his face, she saw Robert Baratheon in his face. He was silent, which worried her, but he was lively. Little pink arms flailing and grabbing hold of her hair, legs kicking out as they had whilst he was inside her. Blue eyes bright and wide, taking her in, and the little tuft of already thick black hair was slicked close to his head. _He'll be like Robert in some regard. Grabbing my teats when he needs them. But he won't be him, I know it._

Jaime looked at him with such curious eyes. "He looks light Robert alright," he said, stating the obvious like a fool. 

"But he does have some of the Lannister look within him." he said. At first, she thought that he was speaking madly as the Mad King had raved. But looking into the babe's pudgy face, she saw that he had her nose and possibly her father's jaw. And looking closer into his eyes, she could see tiny specks of the Lannister emerald green eyes within the Baratheon ocean blue eyes.

As Robert came into the chambers, he presented her with both a stag and lion pelt. He laughed loudly at the sight of his son, taking him in such wonderment that she didn't think possible. Soon, they came into blows as to what to name his heir. The elderly Hand and Lord of the Eyrie had taken the suggestion to name Robert's heir after him kindly, but stated that they both choose another name. Lyonel was a good Baratheon name with the sound of a lion's roar in it but they went against it. Not Tywin, even though she knew that her father would like the sound of that. Damon made it seem as if she were trying to bring life back into the Targaryens. 

It was not until Jaime made a suggestion that they accepted the name. Aunt Genna is a honest and headstrong woman, Uncle Gery always filled with smiles even underneath the breath of her father and if Grandfather Gerold were alive, he would certainly take pride in the name. Gendry. A name that radiated power and ability to lead. A name that would bring about a new era; an age of peace and prosperity.

* * *

Years would pass until she allowed herself to bare children with the one person who made her feel whole. Yet, there was a certain pride in having bore Robert a child; if only one. 

Two years after Gendry's birth, she had given life to a pair of golden haired twins much like her mother did to her and Jaime. Both Tommen and Myrcella were their reflections in some ways. Myrcella was as beautiful as she was with a wit equal to that of her father's. Tommen was as skilled with a blade as Jaime had been at the young age of five yet also giving his attention to his lessons with Pycelle. He also bore a love of animals that allowed him to bear the moniker of "Tommen the Tamer". 

Joffrey though. There was something about him that frightened her. The youngest of her brood, so prideful and willful for a child of eight. There is a certain comfort in knowing that she is the only one who can calm and control him. While Robert enjoyed the fact that his eldest sons were natural warriors in their own right, he had been disturbed and troubled by Joffrey. Especially since that business with the cat. 

The only person other than her who seemed to see and somehow tolerate the dark notions and inclinations that her youngest son bore was his own sworn shield; Sandor Clegane. Mayhaps that was the reason why Gendry, Tommen and Myrcella surrounded themselves with each other and people of their own age. Robin and Edmyn Arryn; the twin heirs of the Eyrie were often close with them and close to an age with them. 

Yet, as far as they were in age, Gendry did in fact try to be a brother to Joffrey. Yet, every time he would try to approach him, Joffrey would throw his arms up about and state that "A prince does not need pity!!" 

"You're also my brother, so stop being such a bother. Don't you want to play?"

"Playing is for children!!"

"Oh, and what are you then? A man grown?"

Bu that did not stop at Gendry either. Tommen would try to engage with his younger brother, which in turn involved the both of them being red in the face. It tore at her heart seeing Joffrey reject his elder brother. Could this be the price for Gendry being her first-born? Would Joffrey be any different if he were Robert's heir instead? 

One thing that gave her comfort is that Gendry would protect Joffrey, no matter what. He may not like his brother, or he may never love him but he would protect him all the same. He would not do it for any great love he may bear for Joff, but for the love he bares for me. 


	47. Soldier (Stannis/Cersei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis and Cersei engage in some kinky role playing sex ... and Stannis fails miserably at it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “He goes to his marriage bed like a man marching to a battlefield"

As much as she loved her boyfriend. it was time for a nice change of pace. Sure, he was pretty damn built but the same-old same old is getting tiresome.

So, she went out shopping and put on the sexiest piece of lingerie she had found. A diaphanous piece of pure white silk that was mostly pieces of string that just barely held up her breasts and left her back bare.

"You ready for me baby?" she said as she stepped into the bedroom

Stannis' hard jaw practically dropped at the moment he saw her. "W-w-whoa. Ju-Just ... w-wow!"

"Thanks. Stannis, I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Ok..."

Maybe I should have started with that first? "I uh, I want to do something else actually"

"Other than what we're about to do right now?"

"Actually, what we can do now could lead up to the good stuff we do." He then looked at her pensively.

"I want to do some role-playing. So, things can be ... spiced up!"

Stannis' eyes widened a bit. Either from shock or surprise. Both maybe? She knew that this may be out of his comfort zone, but they ought to try something. 

"Uh, okay. ... Let's try that. So, ... how do we start?"

"OK. How about ... this?" she said, leaning closer to the archway of the door. Striking a sexy and enticing pose. 

"Oh, Ser Stannis, save me! A great beast has held me captive!! Please, storm the castle and rescue such a fair maiden!"

"What kind of beast has held you captive?"

"Wha- what are you talking about? A great big beast has captured me and is holding me captive."

"Yeah, but ... am I getting rid of a giant wolfish beast? A dragon? I hope not a dragon because that's rather cliche"

"Alright, fine. It's a ... chimera. Save me, save me Ser Stannis!"

"Does it have to be a chimera?" 

"Stannis, why do you think I said beast before? It could've been any beast you'd imagine saving me from. Uh, you know what? Let's forget that and try ... something else" Cersei then came closer to the bed, aching her back a bit. 

"A fire! Ahhh! Someone save me!!" 

"Why don't you call a fireman to help you?"

Wow, for a smart guy he's pretty slow. "Stannis. You're the fireman. I'm calling you to my rescue."

"Oh. OK," he said, awkwardly striding toward her closer to the bed. "... Now what?"

"Rescue me. Carry me in your arms!"

He then perched closer to her so that he could carry her. OK, this is a better position. Cersei then nudged herself closer to his muscles; inhaling the musky scent by his neck. 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Fireman. How can I ever repay you?" she said, sending him very clear signals on just how much this was turning her on. 

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm simply doing my job," he said as a stoic solider would. 

"Oh, but I insist, Mr Fireman. Please. There has to be something?" Cersei said as she gently rubbed the muscles on his left arm. 

"It's fine ma'am. I was simply doing my job"

"Perhaps you can extinguish my flame with that hose of yours?" 

"Ma'am, I see no other cinders, and I'm afraid the hose we have is much too powerful for any normal everyday use" 

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Stannis. Just ... forget it. Just ... put me on the bed and let's do what we do best"

In spite of that evident failure, that might've been one of the best fucks we ever had. 


	48. Protector (Gendry/Dany)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the Usurpers Bastard as her lover somehow felt right.

It was meant to create and mend ties between their Houses. The more noble one had recieved the seat of Storm's End while the more warrior like of them took a place by her side. 

Ser Barristan had made note that he was a true Baratheon in all but name. Tall and towering over most, a strong square jawline and a skilled warrior. He was not like most who had received their training at arms as most nobles do, as he was not noble. No, Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill had trained amongst a band of brigands by the name of the Brotherhood withou Banners; ranging from archery to swordplay. His "low-born" voice was rougher and huskier than the high-brow Westerosi of Ser Barristan, Lord Tyrion or even Jorah's. It had hit her, making her stomach flip unexpectedly whenever she had heard him talk. 

When she’d first seen him training in the training yard, her first thought had been that she hadn’t seen anyone so overwhelmingly masculine since she’d lost Drogo. The sun had made his skin so perfectly tan  and drops of sweat neatly moving about his muscles that he almost could have looked Darthraki – if it weren’t for his eyes.

Daenarys knew her eyes were beautiful, but his might just put hers to shame. The blue was a different kind of blue than seen in the eyes of most people – it was too dark a blue, too rich. Closer to the color of Aegon’s ridiculous hair than to the sky blue or the icy paleness she’d seen on the faces of others. She could spend a lifetime staring into the depths of those particular eyes.

But there were matters to attend to. Not many were taken by the newly legitimized Ser Edric. He may have been the Usurper's son but only in looks for the most part. He had a nobleman's education but lacked everything else from all the time he spent in Lys with his protectors. Seven Hells, even most of his protectors, one of which was a kinsmen wished to follow Ser Gendry as their lord. 

Ser Barristan had made mention how he wished he had knighted the lad and have him join the Kingsguard and lead as it's commander. Better him than the Burnt Flower, she thought. Ser Gendry had come to lead the band of brigands that had trained him after their previous leaders had perished. 

He is a true Baratheon. Tall, strong, a true leader amongst men. And if he looks anything like the Usurper once did, then it was quite easy as to why maidens high and low alike would drop their smallclothes for him. He is not one for conversation but was often seen in the company of her loyal retainers and Queensguard. Tum and Larraq had often traded and made japes with the young hedge knight. Jhogo and Rakharo had often raced with him; japing he was more fit to ride a mammoth into battle rather than a horse. And even how his moniker "The Bull" was quite apt. He is certainly strong and stubborn as one. 

Now, he had been given the task of guarding her day and night. Which had given her more than ample enough time to practically ogle him; imagining him without the grey-coloured armour that covered his highly-muscled form. 

In the months that he had spent guarding her, he had come to speak more with her. About the life he had led in Flea Bottom, how he wanted nothing more than to simply spend the rest of his days learning and mastering the trade and art of smithing, the boyhood dream he once held of becoming the next Ser Duncan the Tall; the famed hedge knight and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. In turn, she had told him of all the strife she had gone through living her life in poverty in Essos. 

Her heart beat as hard as his warhammer did knowing that he was guarding her chambers. In a moment of boldness, she told him that he would be standing guard inside her chambers to further ensure her safety. Surprisingly, he blindly agreed with that assessment; presumably seeing some sense of logic within her words. Feeling more bold, she’d thrown caution to the winds, stepped up on her toes, and kissed him. 

The very feel of him indescribable. His lips though chapped felt as smooth as the peach that had once been gifted to her. The feel of his hands on her body made her ache for more. They were quite calloused yet as soft as old leather. Soon enough, she placed his hand by the strings that held up her robe.

"W-W-what are you doing?!" he said, startled by her now naked form.

"Do you not find me beautiful, ser knight?"

"Gods, I do. You know I do. But we cannot. I am of your Queensguard. We swear to serve and obey the queen a-"

"Ser Gendry, as I firmly recollect, you are not part of my Queensguard. Your Queen is giving you a command. She commands you to fuck her."

"I wish I could but -"

"No more buts Ser." She had him now, she knew it. She began to undo his swordbelt, before his strong arms embraced her and she'd found herself lifted off her feet and pressed against his rock hard chest. Rather than protest as she should have done, she'd wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning softly into his kiss as his hands move to her arse and thighs, holding her up and pressing her against him.

She'd ended up splayed out on her bed completely naked, fingers laced in his dark hair as his head moved down her body, kissing and licking his way to her core. She'd exploded in ecstasy as he tongued and kissed her clit, spiraling over the edge when he'd fixed her with his beautiful blue eyes to watch the effect his intimate efforts were having on her. When the pulses of pleasure had finished wracking her body she'd reached for him, eager to free his visibly hard cock from its restraint inside his breeches. She felt nothing but pure bliss and ecstasy as he entered her. He didn't simply jam it inside of her, he was careful and gentle. It was sweet.

He moved again then, faster and harder than before, making sure he buried himself as deep as he could got each time he rocked back into her perfect warmth. Her hips moved up to meet his pace, a cry leaving her mouth each time he hit hard inside her and her hands gripping at his shoulders, her nails digging in but it was a good pain. When she began to reach her end he growled out, he felt so damn good that she wanted to hold on long enough to be pushed right to the edge. Somehow he managed it, feeling her muscles clench around him and hearing her breathless voice mumbling his name over and over as he continued his thrusts a moment longer before reaching his own end deep inside her.

The breath was knocked from Daenerys then as he collapsed against her, breathing hard in her ear as she fought to get her own breath back, her hands unclenching from his shoulders, softly tracing over them and feeling the small crescents she had left in his skin. He kissed her neck then, finally sliding from her warmth and moving his hand to cup her cheek, the other trailing her side lightly as he lifted his head to look at her. Her own hands came up to cup his face then and they gazed at one another for what felt like an eternity. It didn't feel awkward though, it just felt right as their eyes held one another's, neither set looking away.

This felt so right. This was where she belonged; safe in the arms of her beloved knight.


	49. Family - Of Wolves and Dragons (Jon & Aegon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five times Aegon thought his brother too much of a wolf/Stark and the one time he proved himself a dragon

_One_

Papa brought a new baby. YAY!!

Now I won't be the baby! 

The baby didn't do anything. Right now it was just sleeping. 

Don't all babies look the same as Mommy's and Daddy's do? 

I look like Daddy and Rhae looks Mommy. But the baby doesn't look like us. 

No, the baby has brown hair and his eyes are closed. 

Did Daddy trick them when he said that he brought home a new baby brother?

 

_Two_

Half-brother. That word sounded strange. 

It wasn't like Jon was half of anyone. They shared the same Father didn't they? And he felt more like a real true brother than a half-brother. 

It wasn't until Mommy explained it to him. Yes, he and Jon have the same father but his mother isn't Jon's Mother. 

That much was evident as they began to grow. Jon's hair was a dark brown that almost looked black but his eyes were dark grey that almost looked black. 

But close enough, it looked like they had the same eyes as their father. Yet, they would always look grey; Stark grey. 

 

_Three_

As much as he dislikes Viserys, he did have some points. Jon was not one of them, not truly. No, Jon was not a dragon that breathed fire; he breathed ice. 

Jon did not like going to brothels like Viserys. He was always calm in such an amazingly scary way. 

But he is as warm as a summer day, when he wanted to be. 

He absolutely loved riding and was never seen without their sister Rhaenys shouting and hooting in excitement. He often practiced with the valyrian steel dagger that Ser Arthur, their favourite Kingsguard, gave him. And they always loved training with each other. He and Jon would always make a game out of it. 

The gift his Lord uncle Eddard made him seem all the more like a knight of the North; an intricately made bow made of enameled bronze and weirwood. 

Yet, his strikes in his sword fighting are as ferocious as a dragon, his movements are as quick as the wolf he is. 

 

_Four_

It was time for him to leave. He always knew that was going to happen from what he heard from Mother and Father, but he didn't think it'd happen soon. Boys were fostered, but he knew he wouldn't be. Being the crown prince, he needed to know and learn about being a king. 

Rhae would have to go too. Only Dany would stay, and Viserys. But that maybe because he's too old to be fostered anywhere at this point. And no one would want to foster him. If anything he heard about his grandfather was true, then Viserys was him come again. 

He overheard Father mention that he would foster some boys in the Red Keep to help keep him company but it won't be the same. 

Just as Rhaenys hugged Jon tightly and fiercely, Aegon came from behind her and hugged his little brother with all his might. "Remember that you are a dragon first, little brother."

"Of course, brother," he said as he returned the hug with a smile. 

_You're a dragon first and foremost, not a wolf._

 

_Five_

They all decided to make a game out of who could get to Winterfell faster. Aegon knew that Dany missed Jon as much as he did. And Rhae had only come back to King's Landing two moons ago after spending time with her betrothed Willas Tyrell. 

The void left behind by his brother couldn't be filled by the young men fostered to be his companions. Lancel Lannister surely resembled his lord cousin Jaime yet practically presented himself as if he were the next heir of Casterly Rock. He's met with Lord Jaime several times, the skilled swordsman and proud lord who had done the Kingdoms a great service in slaying the Mad King. Yet Lancel thought himself to be the "Kingslayer" himself.  
Loras Tyrell was certainly as pretty as Lancel is but just as if not more self-assured. But at the very least, he could back his claims in being a good swordsman. Women and men both would likely to bed him because of his beauty. And most men would surely want his natural skill at arms. At the very least he is a good sparring partner, when he wasn't trying to curry favour with him. Wasn't it enough that his brother was marrying my sister?  
Renly Baratheon may be the worst of all the boys sent to foster in the Red Keep. He knew that he was sent by Lord Robert in another attempt to curry favour with his father. He was definitely more of a boy then a man grown as he was. The Scaled Stag, he was called due to contracting greyscale as a child a year after the Siege of Storm's End; leaving much of his neck and part of his right cheek cracked and flaking, stony to the touch. Yet, Loras was the only one to touch it. That may have been the worse kept secret in all the Red Keep. Yet, from what he could tell the love between the two was genuine. Even with his greyscale, he was pretty to an extent but not worthy much at the end of the day. 

But it was better to have them around then Viserys. The idiot had it coming; his exile was imminent. It wasn't enough for him to belittle Jon but he had to try to lord over whatever rights he had over me as well. Makes me glad that I fucked his wife more times than he ever did. Lynesse for all her beauty did look like Dany in some regard. Did Viserys try to imagine that he was fucking her instead?

As they all got closer, he could see the great castle of Winterfell. It was certainly smaller than the Red Keep but looked powerful as it did ancient. Lord Eddard Stark greeted them formally, though his eyes betrayed his face as he looked at his father. Catelyn Tully now Stark, was quite formal in greeting them as befitting a lady of her station. Robb Stark the heir to Winterfell, who looked more Tully than Stark, bowed sternly with his bright Tully blue eyes looking at them with wary eyes of ice. Sansa Stark who is quite a beauty for a girl of twelve, mustered the perfect curtsy. Her sister Arya soon followed suit then the younger boys by the name of Brandon and Rickon. 

The wards of Winterfell soon introduced themselves. First came Theon Greyjoy, the heir apparent of the Iron Islands; a lithe youth black of hair and eye armed with a smirk plastered on his face. Renly's Baratheon kin soon followed; Lord Robert's son Gendry who looked more like a true warrior and Lord Stannis' son Gormon who looked more like a scribe. Then was Robert's eldest male bastard Edmure Rivers now Whent. Robin Arryn looked every inch like a young lord in waiting with his strawberry-blonde curls and sky blue eyes. Wallace Waynwood and Waymar Royce look like two promising knights. Domeric Bolton the heir to the Dreadfort is a rather pretty lad of seven-and-ten with dark brown curls neatly falling to his pale blue eyes. 

Last but not least was Jon; his brother. Just before he could go and hug him, Dany held a similar idea and all but crashed into him.  The moment she let go, he and Rhae practically charged into him; laughing with glee. 

Just after everything, he and Jon came to train in the Winterfell training yard. It had been so long since he had truly trained and fought his hardest. Though it felt as if he had gotten sloppy with Jon managing to get a strike in almost every time. Robb Stark then came about making a jape which immediately made him smile. 

Jon rarely smiled like that back at the Red Keep. I truly have lost him to the wolves. 

 

_And One_

Viserys the fool. How he hated him. For all the times, he mocked them all, Aegon knew deep inside that he was just a fool. A drunkard trying to play the game of thrones. 

To have recruited the Second Sons, the Brave Companions, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and the Golden Company was quite a feat. Yet, he could not be content in conquering much of Slaver's Bay to sate his notions of glory and turning it into the Bay of Dragons. He decided to bring his vile men and actions westward. The worst of it was that the Golden Company was being lead by the last living scion of House Blackfyre. Viserys may be the greatest fool if he thinks this Blackfyre boy will be content to allow him the Iron Throne. 

He had been taught to fight during his training sessions as if war was on the horizon. Now it was near the doorstep of every common man. 

Renly was a greater fool to think that he could actually treat with Viserys. The Baratheons had been sent back their youngest brother's head with his eyes gouged out and his tongue ripped out of the mouth. Loras Tyrell fought more like a madman after Renly's death. 

Now he was bringing the fight to him. This was no longer about his boyhood dreams of earning glory, but removing the stain of dishonour he had put on their house. He is nothing but a blight to remove. I will slay this new King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea in his home. Seeing the Targaryen banners on the isle of Bloodstone was enough to make his blood boil. 

He had managed to cut down several soldiers before seeing him. He has the audacity to not only style himself a king but also dress like one himself; a rather ornate looking thing equivalent to the crown of Mad King Aerys. That same madness now covered his eyes.

He then raised and pointed his sword at the blustering idiot. "Y-You dare?! You dare challenge the dragon?!" Viserys raged as he took out a Dothraki arakh and began to swing violently. 

For all the time he had ignored his training, Viserys had gotten good. Damn his exile. Skilled but pure aggression. He thought that he would tire but Viserys only became more and more angrier with each swing. 

"I should have been crowned. I should have been the heir. None of you are worthy. None of you are true blood of the dragon! Ill-born and ill-bred. The whole lot of you born from whores!!" 

It was one thing to be a blight on their own house, but he will not tolerate a slight toward his mother. Mustering whatever strength he had and delivering a hard swing at him; scarring his cheek. 

"YOU DARE BLEED THE DRAGON?!!"

"YOU'RE NO DRAGON!!" 

With surprising swiftness, Viserys delivered a hard stroke on his sword arm. Blood gushing out of him. 

"I'll be sure to send you to Rhaegar. As a mercy, ... before I slay him and take what's rightfully mine."

Viserys then raised the arakh over his head and stab him. _This is it. I'm done for. I'm sorry Father._  

Suddenly, he heard a loud slash. Viserys screaming in pain as his sword arm was completely severed from his body; his hand still firmly gripping the blade. 

"You won't be doing anything of the like, Uncle," said Jon, creeping up on him. The long lost blade Dark Sister in hand. He quickly took note of the boy by his side; the Blackfyre. It was almost like looking at a reflection. Except that Aegor Blacfyre was closer to Jon in age and lankier than him. He looks almost shy now. 

"N-N-No. J-Jon. Jacaerys, sweet nephew. Y-You wouldn't dare harm me ... You're no kinslayer"

Jon then took another heavy slash at Viserys, slicking off his other arm. 

"What was it you told me, uncle? I'm a ... half-bred ingrate. Jon Snow the bastard cur of the North," Jon said as his steely grey eyes bore into him. He then nodded to Aegor, who took out Blackfyre from it's scabbard. Both of them then stabbed Viserys in the chest; a small gasp of air let out. 

"And you are no kin of mine," he said. With all the ferocity a dragon had offered. 


	50. Of Sand and Snow (Jon/Arianne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been sent to squire under the infamous Red Viper of Dorne, not fall for its Princess.

It was all strange to him. 

When his father told him that he would not be joining the Night's Watch, he felt disheartened to say the least. 

"You're still little more than a boy, Jon. Travel and see the world"

He was a little excited when Father had told him that Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne had agreed to his request to take him as his personal squire. 

Yet, most if not all the Stark household seemed to be upset. 

Rodrik and Jory Cassel told him to remember his swordplay. Maester Luwin had told him to remember his lessons, and tell him what Dawn looks like should he get the chance to gaze upon it. Farlen told him to remember to take care of the wolf he had now. Hullen and Harwin told him to gain a dornish sand steed as a prize and to treat the animal well.

Surprisingly enough, Jeyne Poole whispered into his ear to "kiss me like a proper dornishmen" when he returns to Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy had told him to "get a nice dornish cunny" on his trip down south. Ass.

Father had held tightly and to remember that he was a Stark, if not by his name than by his blood. Robb held him tightly and told him not to melt in the hot Dornish sun. Bran held him tightly while asking to squire for him once he had been properly knighted, to which he promised. Rickon wailed furiously, extracting a promise that he would bring him back a present when he returns. Sansa all but instructed him to return a brave and true knight. Arya furiously clutched on to him, nearly crying, begging for him not to go. It wasn't until he promised to not only bring her back a present as well but write to her everyday (which he already planned to do) that she let go.

Upon arriving at White Harbour, he had wondered about Dorne itself. Would his direwolf Ghost find the climate favourable? How the land itself fared; as it had defied the Young Dragon.

The Dornish party had greeted him quite favourably. Prince Oberyn Martell, the famed Red Viper of Dorne, had looked initially skeptical of him but quickly turned into a more jovial attitude. The rest of the party treated him no different but curious to see a northman so far from the North itself. He wore the only think that marked him as a Stark; a pure grey doublet his father gave him. 

The Red Viper had a lined face with thin eyebrows, black "viper" eyes and a sharp nose. His hair quite lustrous and dark with only a few silver streaks and recedes from his brow into a widow's peak. Right beside him are his infamous daughters. The eldest a big-boned woman near to thirty, long-legged, with close-set eyes and rat-brown hair. The second eldest is slim and slender as a willow, with straight black hair worn in a long braid which pulls back from a widow's peak. She has the beauty her elder sister lacks; dark eyes, high cheekbones, unblemished olive skin and full lips. Surprisingly, the third eldest is fair, with golden hair, blue eyes and an almost otherworldly innocence about her; looking as sweet as summer strawberries. The youngest of them that came to greet him amused him; her hair worn in a long braid, smelt something like a horse and she had her father's eyes fiercely and inquisitively staring at him. The woman beside her doing the same; she looked to be of an age with the blonde woman. She is buxom and beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back if not a bit short.

"Jon Snow of Winterfell. On the behalf of my brother, Prince Doran Martell, I welcome you to Dorne. These are my daughters; my eldest Obara Sand, Lady Nymeria Sand, Tyene Sand, and my youngest Elia Sand. And the lovely young lady beside her is my niece, Princess Arianne.  
And I look forward to see how a Northman fight in battle. We will train in the morn in two days time. Make yourself comfortable."

The feast thrown, apparently in his honour, was unexpected to say the least. And the strangest feast he may ever attended: the Dornish women were more openly lewd with the men who offered to dance with them, Dornish wine was certainly more sour, and Dornish food was full of queer hot spices. 

"Is this not to your liking, Jon Snow?" said Princess Arianne said as she came to his side strutting. 

"It's certainly not what I'm used to," he admitted. One thing undoubtedly different, he was placed in a seat of honour. In Winterfell, he would often be seated by the servants and the like. Not that he minded much really. Jory and Harwin would often jest with him and at him; in a less brash manner than Theon anyway. Ser Rodrik kindly telling him not to drink so much and stating that a drunken man makes for an easier target. Mikken would chide him to not swing his sword so wildly and forcefully; as he would often fix the nicks in it. Septon Chayle kindly telling him what makes him more a knight than any others he had seen. 

"Mayhaps, I can help you feel more comfortable during your time in Dorne, my good ser?" Princess Arianne said, while gently placing her hand on his thigh. "After all, we wouldn't want you to melt onto the hot Dornish sand," she said with a lovely enticing smile marring her face.

* * *

He is handsome, Jon Snow, in his grey doublet and the wolf at his side. Admittedly, he is quite young, five-and-ten to her being two-and-twenty. Even a fool could see why she would want him in her bed. So she showed him much of Sunspear then showed him her chambers last, pulling him into them late that night.

"P-Princess? W-Wha  - ?" he says before she cuts him off, grabbing him by the neck and entangling his lips with her own. He had been resisting at first, but soon gave into it more; his body feeling more lax. His lips tasting as sweet as the Dornish Red remained on his tongue as well.Then, all at once, he becomes as stiff as a board. 

"I-I can't. I can't do this. It's not honourable t- "

She laughs. He's a pretty boy, but still a boy nonetheless. "Honour? That poxy bitch? I know her. Dry as dust between the legs, and her kisses leave you bleeding," she said, pressing another kiss onto him. 

She proceeding to undo the ties of her nightgown when he stopped her. "Is this about my honor?" She whispered mockingly.

He still laid his hands onto her shoulders, until he pulled her nightgown back up and redid the ties to her gown. "No." She tried to kiss him but he stopped her again with a hand cupping her chin.

"I do not enjoy being played with like a toy my lady."

She smacked his hand away, "Do you what any man would give just to have a  _single_  night in my bed?" She spat out.

"Then perhaps you should get one of them to warm your bed tonight." He then swept out of the room, closing her chamber door behind him.

* * *

Where does that boy go off practically acting as if she was some harlot?! Ever since that night, he had gone to great pains to avoid her. And should they actually cross paths, it would be so much formal to her liking.

She wants to hate the boy. Yet, she can't help but admire his tenacity. He is quick and savvier with a blade then better expected.

Obara and Nymeria are great fighters. Both of them admiring his prowess as a warrior and how quick he's becoming with a Dornish spear in such a short amount of time. Elia and Trystane becoming quite fond of him as well. 

"How is it that no Northern fool has properly knighted you, boy?" Her uncle Oberyn said in a jest. But Jon Snow said nothing about this and instead, gave off a strong aura of intensity and all but begged for another sparring match. Even Daemon Sand seemed rather fond of the young Northman. She found herself amazed in watching him fight; such speed and grace like a dancer yet taunting as well. Yet there is something akin to her uncle's fighting style; watching and waiting to strike at the right moment. 

Yet, there was something about him that reminded her of her brother Quentyn. So solemn, quiet as a mouse, rarely saying a word. But mayhaps that is just the way he is. Not all bastards grow up the same. And yet, she and Oberyn agreed that Ned Stark bringing his bastard to Winterfell may have been the most Dornish thing to do.

Ultimately, she grew tired of watching them play at being trim and proper knights and made her way to her chambers. As she entered , she found Tyene and Nymeria whispering together before shaking hands.  “What schemes did I miss?” She asked when she entered the tent.

“Oh nothing of import, my princess.” Tyene answered in a mocking tone and smile that made her know that it definitely not nothing.

“Oh, truly? Nothing of ... import?” Arianne said, raising her eyebrows at her.  Tyene was the prettiest one of the Sand Snakes. Not as big and bulky like Obara or slim and quick like her other cousin, Lady Nym but by no means was she a weak woman. Armed with beautiful golden hair, light pale skin as soft as silk and eyes as blue as the sea, and a sweet and innocent look about her. She could act like a sweet and pious girl, but she knew that she was the deadliest of them all; sharing her fathers knowledge of poisons and venoms. _The most poisonous flowers always are the prettiest ones._

“Just a little wager we decided on.” Nymeria replied. 

“A wager?”

Tyene smiled. “A simple wager, you wouldn’t be interested.”

"Oh, I wouldn’t?” Arianne asked. “Try me.”

“Well it’s about Father's newest squire.” Nymeria started. Arianne didn’t know why but she felt herself blush. She had felt a seething rage toward him, yet now she could not stop blushing as if he were the first one to look at her and admire her beauty.

“Jon Snow. What about him?” The Sand Snakes had taken a liking to Jon. Obara had admitted that he was a "pretty lad" and "fair to look at". Elia absolutely adored Jon, showing him her skills with a lance and horse-racing with him. Trystane now began to follow him around much like a lost puppy. 

“Well from what I've gathered, he’s never lain with a woman. Quite scandalous, don't you think so, coz?” Tyene explained. “I mean a handsome boy like him. So we decided that we could have a little bet. The first one of us to change that wins.”

Arianne found herself blushing even more at that. _I would be interested in that wager, had he not shamed me so easily. Mayhaps I could still take part._  Yet, something about that seemed to bring about an ire within. She didn’t want to see Nymeria’s full lips pressed against Jon Snow’s. Or Tyene’s soft hands interlocked with his. 

“You two are fools if you think either of you can win.” Arianne said. “That boy is much too damn honorable to have engage in a good fuck. For all I know, he might look and question what our cunts are like a maester would. He may be likely enough to send one of you to tears.”

“Well,” Nymeria said with a sly smile. “He wouldn’t be the first honorable man I’ve managed to seduce." It then came apparent to her that Obara was not here, mayhaps she would like to know and take part in this wager as well? Or is she planning to be the first female Kingsguard?

" Oh and Tyene.” Nymeria said suddenly. “No potions or poisons. You have to seduce him without help.”

Tyene pretended to pout before she smiled. “I guess that will make it more fun when I win.” She admitted.

* * *

He had to admit that Dorne was growing on him. Except for maybe the hot sun. It just made him yearn for the summer snows of the North. 

Prince Oberyn was always genial with a smile on his face and a infectious laugh as they trained together. Often jesting, acting without a care in the world. Which so reminded him of what his Father wanted of him and Prince Oberyn's offer as well. To see more of the world. Mayhaps it was a good thing for Father to have sent him here. 

Yet, somehow, his being in Dorne made him yearn for the answer that often plagued his mind. His mother. For reasons unknown to him, these thoughts plagued him more in Dorne than in the North. 

But now is not the time to be thinking such things. Ser Daemon and Lady Nym were showing him how to utilize a Dornish spear in conjunction with a whip. Princess Arianne watching them all with a curiosity. 

"It's quite easy Jon Snow. It's not just in the wrist; you use your arm the way you use a sword. Observe" Lady Nym said, as she preferred to be called. She quickly demonstrated as she used her whip to wrap around Daemon's legs and yanking him off his feet.

"Now, you try" she said, gently handing him her eight-foot long bullwhip. In an attempt to perform the same technique as her, he swung over his head and instead, struck Daemon across the head. The sudden shock and force, coupled with a large thwack had caused the Dornish bastard to fall flat to the ground. 

Lady Nym and Princess Arianne then let out melodic giggles. "While that was ... skillful, that is not what you want to do. You want to subdue your opponent." She then leaned closer, smelling heavenly – of orange blossoms, jasmine and spice – and when she did he had seen quite deeply into her silk gown, to the crevasse between her modest, orb-like breasts.

"Think of the whip much like you would a sword. You must make the sword a part of your arm. You cannot drop your arm now, can you my Lord Snow? Think of the fall of the whip as your hand and the rest your arm. From there, it is about the movement," she said as she gently rubbed his arm to show the direction and manner as to how to do it. The feel of her dainty fingers moving alongside the faint growing muscles of his arms made him feel flush. He couldn't tell if he was blushing heavily or if the hot Dornish sun was scorching his skin. Instead, he focused what she told him and managed to successfully wrap the whip around Daemon's ankles and swept him off his feet. 

"That was very good, Ser Snow. Very good indeed." Lady Nym said. Yet he found his attention focused on the now intense gaze of the Dornish Princess. 

* * *

"Well, that seemed to be a waste!" Nym said in a uproar, throwing her arms in the air before plummeting to her bed. 

"My, my, sweet sister. What ever seems to be the problem?" Tyene said, in an inquisitively tone. 

"Jon Snow. He's proven himself to be a challenge. Mayhaps, I need to conduct a more ... private lesson"

Arianne laughed at this. While Jon Snow had become more friendlier and no longer seemed as cold as he was before, he would not break as her sweet cousins thought he would. Or at the very least, had a stronger resolve that most grown men would like to claim they have. Yet, she could not help but be a bit peeved at her cousin's notions of bedding him. 

"It is true what they say about the men of the North. They are true men of honour," she said to her cousins in a somewhat mocking tone. "He won't break anytime soon"

"A true challenge indeed. Tis a shame Obara wouldn't partake in such fun." Tyene said, gently rubbing her dainty fingers across the hem of her dress. "It'll be quite fun seeing him break before my eyes"

* * *

Things had become less awkward in the time that had passed. Jon Snow now bore lighter garb which showcased his lithe form and lean muscles. His skin darkened only a tiny bit. No longer was he as icy as before. 

And it turned out that he had quite a silver tongue and wit. Though they were more amiable towards each other, he still maintained a certain distance between them. It was more an annoyance than something she detested. 

He began to talk of the progress he'd been making with Oberyn, and the offer Oberyn had made to take him to see the Free Cities. But first, they would head to the Water Gardens. Yet, there was something of note that he had told her which she had once heard about. 

"Lady Allyria Dayne of Starfall has cordially invited me to Starfall. She says that ... she may know something about my mother. Her sister ... Lady Ashara Dayne"

She faintly recalled Lady Ashara. Arguably one of the most beautiful women in the world during her time. Almost everyone had fallen in love with her and her haunting eyes. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell among them. If Ashara Dayne is truly Jon Snow's mother, then she has left very little of herself in her son. 

Part of her wants and should tell her about the bet that her cousins have going on. But instead, she chooses to not do so. Whom he beds does not matter and is a moot point. 

* * *

_Splash! Splash!_

The sounds of it had stirred him awoke. It had only been a week since they came to the Water Gardens and he came to love it. He felt as if he could stay in the palace forever. 

Yet, he found himself drawn to the sound of the splashing. As he came closer, he found himself staring at the now nude body of Lady Tyene Sand. The moonlight gently kissing her fair hair and pale skin. Her nipples looked as bright and red as ripe strawberries. 

Just as he began to avert his eyes and move away, she had caught notice of him. 

"Have you been enjoying the spectacle, Ser Snow?"

"I-I am so-sorry. P-Please, f-forgive me, my lady"

"I am no more a lady then you are a lord, my sweet Lord Snow"

She then began to saunter toward him, gently swaying them as she moved. Every step a seduction. As she came close to him, he could feel the swell of her breasts pressing against his chest. Her fingers gently curling around the nape of his neck. 

"W-We shouldn't."

"Yet, we should. You know you want it," she said, nibbling at his ear. Her innocent-looking blue eyes then took in his grey ones before placing her lips onto his. 

She tastes wonderful. Like a myriad of fresh fruits. As she continued to kiss him, he found her hands tracing down her body. Slowly but surely meeting the lovely curves of her arse. As she removed her lips from his, she gave him a look that reminded him of Princess Arianne. As she began to kiss him again, he found himself feeling more withdrawn. 

Thoughts of the Dornish Princess began to flood his mind. He had tried to push those thoughts away since that night. Even if Dorne was more accepting of bastards, she was still a Princess and he was still a bastard. Yet, as the thoughts began to flood his mind as the feel of Tyene's tongue began to flood his mouth, it was not what he wanted. 

 _Seven Hells! I was just supposed to squire for the Red Viper of Dorne, not fall in love with its Princess!_ She was as fiery as her homeland. A great beauty to behold. A fierceness he admired. Suddenly, he let go of his grip on Tyene. 

"I-I am very sorry, my lady. I can't go through with this."

"There is nothing wrong with it, Jon Snow. Neither my Seven Gods, nor your Older Gods would condemn two people for wanting to give in to such ... pure desires." 

The way she said those words struck something within him. Like she was not truly sincere. He then gave her a hard stare. What resolve she may have had had begun to falter. 

"My sister was right. Your own will is like iron. My Princess was right not to engage in such matters."

Tyene was then met with another hard stare. Suddenly, she explained how she and her sister Lady Nym had made a bet to bed him. And how Princess Arianne all but told them not to do make such gambles. He then grabbed her clothes, which were by the fountain's edge and gave them to her and left her there.

* * *

She was not expecting any visitors during the middle of the night. And she was certainly not expecting Jon Snow by her door.  

"Jon? What is going on? Why have you woken me?" 

"Did you know?" 

"Know what? Please, explain." 

"About this ... bet your cousins had going on." 

Oh, fuck. Did Tyene state something about achieving victory? ... Did she accomplish the bet? Why was she bothered by that?

"Yes, I did. It was not my place to judge them or order them to stop. And besides, what does it matter? From the looks of things, you seem fine with it. Did she accomplish her quest in bedding you?" she said rather snidely. 

He then looked to his boots and sullenly shook his head. "She came close to. But I couldn't do it."

This was interesting. "Did you not find my cousin enticing enough? I'm told that she is a rather beautiful woman, and the most fair of my cousins"

"Even if I willed myself to bed her, I wouldn't. I wouldn't bed someone I don't love"

Her own eyes met his dark grey ones, taking him in. He may be from the land of ice, yet he bore the soul of summer.

"I-I wouldn't have ... liked it if you gone off bedding my cousins," she said, inching herself closer than before. 

With the speed of a shadowcat, she cupped his jaw to bring him close. Meeting her fervor, he fiercely kissed her; his tongue darting in her mouth like a striking serpent. In the blink of an eye, he had her over the mattress, kissing his way down her body. He lingered a bit to wrap his tongue around her round ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples. The way she moaned made her sound more wanton then expected; was there ever a woman with nipples so large or so responsive?

Just as she began to question just what he was doing, she suddenly grasped at his hair; keeping him by her cunt. Mayhaps Tyene had shown him such things? Or mayhaps he had bedded a girl back in the North? No, now was not time for such thoughts. For now, Jon Snow was right where she had wanted him. It wasn't long before she was whimpering and trembling due to his caresses. They shared a gasp as she guided him inside of her, using her legs to keep him in place. 

The moans and groaning coming from both of their mouths would be enough to stir awake the guards. She could tell that he was coming close, trying to leave. Instead, she grabbed him by his hips; wanting every bit of him. 

As he was done, he collapsed into her breasts; faintly kissing them just before his body fell to sleep. Such a sweet summer boy. A sweet boy who all but told her that he loves her. He could be a worthy enough consort. He could be. 


	51. Necessity (Margaery/Edric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery needs a Baratheon looking baby. So when Renly won't give her one she seduces Edric Storm.

It was nothing but a sham. What were either of them thinking? It was quite known amongst her family, with possibly her father being oblivious to it, that Renly did not hold any interest in woman. He acknowledged them at least; telling them the sweet words they'd like to hear of their beauty. But even the most blind man could see how her brother and the King in the South would stare at each other longingly. 

One thing that is known is that a king needs an heir. And Renly would not be doing her or her family a great disservice in his unwillingness to bed her. She had told him that he could turn her over and pretend that he was bedding Loras. Supposedly, she and her brother have the same arse shape, it would be no trouble for him to use his imagination. 

The men would surely begin to whisper on how their beloved king would dare not bed his wife. Likely to make rumours on what he is trying to keep secret. Get close to the truth as well; that their king is a "sword-swallower" and a "pillow-biter". Or that he may enjoy the company of men and women. That would not be much of a stretch, if he were King of Dorne. 

If I am to be queen, then I need to secure his reign. And in order to secure her husband's reign, then she would need to bear him a son. But it was not as if there were an abundance of Baratheon's. She had heard that Cersei Lannister had eliminated numerous dark-haired boys in King's Landing that either bore the Baratheon look, or had been of bad luck to have tried to cross against the apparent rampaging City Watch. Unless and if she were so bold to sneak into Stannis Baratheon's encampment and somehow successfully seduce him. From what she heard about Stannis from Renly, was how Stannis Baratheon had a will of iron and an aura surrounding him akin to steel. I may have a better chance in seducing his horse. 

And she could not bed someone in a similar appearance to Renly. Or ... mayhaps she can. Renly had all but made young Edric Storm his heir; the late and only publicly acknowledged bastard of the late King Robert Baratheon. Edric had come from Storm's End to serve as Renly's squire and had kept him close by at all times. And he had also been by her side as of late, keeping her company with his seemingly stalwart devotion to his uncle. 

From what she had heard and seen, Edric bore a striking likeness to Robert and Renly. He had a surprisingly strong jaw for all his youth. His neat coal-dark hair gently fell to his neck. His Baratheon blue eyes are quite lovely; truly lovelier than Renly's. 

He may not be a true Baratheon, but he does bear Baratheon blood. Renly would not object to it; especially since if he is not willing to do the deed himself. Seducing him would not be a problem. The only problem would be to get Edric on board with her plan. 

"Edric! Could you come here please?" she said, calling to him as he stood diligently and stalwartly by her side. He suddenly burst in alarm, having been busy admiring Renly's ornate green armour. His hands had nearly dropped the golden-horned helm. 

"Is there something the matter, my queen?" he asked; sounding more like a devoted Kingsguard. 

"Nothing is wrong, my sweet young ser. I simply wish to talk to you for a moment," she said as sweetly as honey, placing her most endearing smile upon her face and highlighting her dimpled cheeks. 

"Oh, ok," he said easing up a bit. "Wh-What about?"

"About you really, Edric. You and your station in life. What do you think about being heir to Renly?" she said, gauging at his reaction.

"I never thought of it really. Truly and selfishly, I once hoped that my father would make me his heir and replace the children he had with Queen Cersei. Although, it seems that dream is dead."

Dead? He had just told her that he wished for Cersei's children to be seceded from the line on the Iron Throne. But that's when she realized it. It was not a matter of taking upon the title of Prince and Heir to the Iron Throne. It was a matter of truly being recognized by his father. His father, the king, who likely didn't give two shits about the supposed children he sired with the Queen, or the actual children he did sire. 

"You would love nothing more than to be recognized. Not just as a true highborn, but also as a Baratheon. Edric Florent doesn't sound powerful, nor a name to rally around to," she said giving a wry chuckle. Edric in turn had a bit of a laugh. 

"It does have a certain ring to it, my Queen"

"Please, I'm yet to be a Queen. But mayhaps, you could be a Baratheon," she said eyeing him. 

"Renly had already told me of his offer, my Queen"

"No, not just in name. But in everything. Ser Bryce and Ser Guyard have told us both on your progress, and that knighthood is imminent," she said, daintily removing her shift as slowly as possible. "The Baratheon's are well-known to be quite virile. Now, it's time that you truly feel like a Baratheon". Margaery then gently placed the helm onto his head, then placed his slowly-callousing hands on her hips. 

Before he could even protest, she had already guided and placed him inside her. Gently rolling her hips, ensuring that the rhythm of their bodies matched one another's and that he was deeply sheathed inside her. 

Slowly, Margaery began to lift herself off of his cock, and then she fell again on him, and he felt his cock surge in rapture. Margaery then began to ride him over and over in increasing tempo.It continued that way for some time. Margaery's leg muscles worked continuously, driving her weight up and down onto his cock. Her small breasts jiggled with each shuddering sheathing. 

Margaery did not stop her efforts, continuing in her same pace she had slowly increased to. She then gauged at Edric's face who was looking at every part of her as if it were the most wondrous thing ever; like Father like son. He then slowly moved his hands from her hips to her breasts, lightly squeezing them which elicited a moan out of her. She then began to increase her pace as best she could, their flesh slapping loudly, her legs working, her brown hair shaking and tumbling. Margaery could feel these first, powerful spurts of his seed inside her, a lewd and delightful sensation. 

She could feel herself coming undone and she could tell that he was as well. "You want it, don't you?" she cooed at Edric. "You want to keep doing this with me. You want watch me swell with child. Your child; our child," she cooed at him. He was completely at her mercy. 

"M-M-My Queen ..."

"Margaery. I'm your sweet maid Margaery"

Edric nearly cried out her name until she hastily covered his mouth and all but bit the insides of her mouth to hold back a moan. 

She rocked on him as she did, squeezing herself on his length, milking him for all he was worth; feeling a hazy warmth growing within her, the burgeoning fill of his load settling inside her grasping cunt. Both of them breathing heavily and she neatly collapsed onto his broadening chest. 

She felt victorious in such an accomplishment. And as promised, she would be queen.


	52. Ghosts (Loras & Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry never knew his father or uncles, so Loras helps fill in the gaps.

_He's not him. No matter how much he looks like him, or reminds you of him, he's anything but._

That was the mantra he had to live by and words he had to remind himself whenever he saw the boy. The roguish knight turned lordling; Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. Though now, he is Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. 

Loras had thought that his days of honour and glory were done for when the Dragon Queen finally made her descent into Westeros. Yet, she allowed him to stay all the same. Had Father lived, he likely would have commanded Margaery to set little Tommen aside for either one of her nephews. Much to their surprise, Margaery decided that she no longer desired to be queen and decided to go to her new home with her husband. Her husband who was only eleven years of age and not likely to bed her until he's three or four-and-ten. Yet, that seemed to suit her fine. 

What took him more by surprise was the young Ser and leader of brigands in the riverlands. Ser Gendry was more broadly built than Renly; his heir messier and untamed and his skin dirtier than his. And his eyes were bright as could be but lacked the warmth that Renly's had. No, they were as cold as ice. His voice and greetings were courser than his; lacking refinement that Renly radiated. 

Yet, all these judgments he made in silence. For it was his duty to defend and protect the Queen, not to judge her or her subjects. He fondly remembered Edric Storm; the lithe lively youth who once offered to be his own squire shortly after earning his own spurs. He could have made a claim for him for rights of Storm's End, but instead he had been formally given the home of his mother's; Brightwater Keep. Garlan had been given Dunstonbury as his own new keep for a secondary Tyrell branch. 

Ser Gendry had often been with the rest of the Queensguard and the rest of the Queen's retainers. The aging but legendary Lord Commander Ser Barristan has become quite fond of him and has made it his mission to properly train him. The Summer Islander Tum and the Lhazarene Knight the Red Lamb are very friendly with him; telling and trading japes with one another. The Dothraki Jhogo and Rakharo also find him funny; and tried to braid his long hair in an attempt to make him look like a Dothraki. Though that had made them fill the air with their laughter.   
His laugh ... it's almost like Renly's. Though louder and more booming; like his Father in a way.

When Ser Barristan states that they train together, he feels himself hesitant. The young Ser, or the Bull as many have called him, seems to sense it and all but refused to strike him. 

"What's the matter? Afraid of losing to a true and proper knight?" he says, taunting the boy. 

"Oh, yes. Afraid. Truly, madly afraid. Of losing to you, Lord o' Daisies!" he said, taunting him.

Although, he had heard it all before, the insult had gotten into his skin. And with that, he raised his sword and began to attack. 

"You think you're better than me? You commanded brigands, outlaws and rogues!"

"At least I actually fought in a war instead of trying to play at one!!"

How ... dare he?! This stupid, impudent ... "I have fought in war, boy!"

They both swung hard and true. He was surprised that in spite of his large frame, Ser Gendry is quite quick on his feet. 

"You've played at one. You've played at being a knight and you played at war," he said nearly slamming himself into the blade, leaning his body toward him. 

"You think you're some kinda god? You're more a boy than I am," he snarled and knocked him down on his arse as the Beauty once did back at Bitterbridge. He had never felt more like a boy than ever. He then placed the blade near his neck. "Now yield, boy." 

" ... I yield"

He had stayed in his chambers for quite some time. For much of it, he had stared at the armour of his beloved. The enameled and intricately made green armour and golden-armoured helm. Tracing his fingers along it. Suddenly, he had heard a knock on his door. "Come in"

Ser Barristan then came. "Ser Loras. I hope that you are alright," said the truest knight alive. 

"I'm fine. The only real thing that was hurt other than my arm hath been my pride," he said sullenly. 

"Good. I do hope you have seen some sense in Ser Gendry's words"

Sense? In his words? "Forgive me, Ser Barristan but I even doubt that he is even a knight? He commanded brigands, born the lowest of the low and he chastises me?!"

"A man's birth does not determine his worth. Look to the king and prince you serve, Ser Loras. And he has the right of it. He has much of his father and his uncle's. He does have a certain easiness and charm that belong to Renly. Yet, he has also known poverty, hunger and fear. Much like Stannis, he knows the true worth of a person. And has his innate stubbornness and tenacity and has not truly craved glory for war. Yet, like his father, he had proved himself to be quite skilled in that as well as being able to command and lead men. Brigands may have trained him but they trained him well enough to have kept him alive all this time. And if I may speak frankly, he may be as true a knight as I am. And if he hadn't been, I would have been honoured to have knighted the boy. Remember the vows you made before you donned your cloak, Ser Loras."

That did make sense. A true knight must be brave and just, defend the defenseless, and act with courtesy. He could work on being more cleanly but other than that, Ser Gendry is indeed a true knight. Yet, the young knight's armour was far too dinged up and near rusted. 

As he made his way to the training yard, he finds him there with Ser Archibald Yronwood, both of them swinging their warhammers about. Gendry quickly took note of him and signaled the broad Dornish knight to halt and stop. 

"What is it you want?"

With his eyes on him, he found himself nervous to say the least. "I, uh, I came to apologize. ... You were right. I don't know about war; not in the way you do. ... So, I brought you a gift," he said as he caled for one of the young squires in the Red Keep to help bring it. 

"Every knight needs good and proper armour. No offense but you'll need it. And your armour is not ... exactly ... up to standards," he said feeling awkward and flush. The Bull eyed the armour warily. "My armour just needs to protect me, doesn't need to look pretty. ... But thank you."

Loras then motioned for the squire to remove his armour. As he did so and place the bright green armour on him, he couldn't help himself from taking note of his body. Rippling corded muscles had covered his arms and his strong broad barrel-chest. As the armour and helm was placed on him, his heart panged as that was how he imagined Renly looking like; a true king and conqueror. 

He then placed his hand on the armour, gently and neatly tracing his fingers along it, faintly whispering something. 

"I knew your family. ... For the most part," he blurted out. Gendry then gave him another wary look; disbelieving him. " ... Is that so?" 

"Right now, you look every inch like them. A true Baratheon. If you'd like to know about them, anyone of them, ... I'd be glad to tell you."

"It's strange. I barely knew my mother. I never knew my father, yet I hear people say that I'm like him. I'd like to know ... just how much."

He sense there was a sense of fear in his voice. Does he fear becoming like King Robert? The boy lived in King's Landing all his life and likely had seen Robert at his "finest". 

"Well, you are certainly as strong as he was in his youth. From what I've heard. But you have a stubbornness that reminds me of your Uncle Stannis. I had met him once or twice when he came by Storm's End to visit your uncle Renly. He was ... something of a protective sort, often visiting when he could to check up on him." 

It had felt like days as he kept talking about the Baratheons as a whole. Telling Gendry of what he knew of King Robert, what little he knew about Stannis, and what he had known about Renly. The young knight's eyes growing wide with awe as he kept telling him about them. By the end of their talk, Gendry held himself in a slightly high-born manner; standing straighter than a freshly forged blade. Likely feeling more like a true Baratheon. 

As he came to his chambers, it somehow felt lighter. Not because the armour Renly once decided to wear no longer adorned his chambers like a trophy. No, the pains and ghosts of his heart were still there but no longer hurt him as strong as before. 


	53. Crestfallen (Tommen/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Tommen dies in the wildfire explosion, leaving his beautiful wife to mourn the young naive king she's adored and loved

The fool. That sweet adorable fool. 

What in the name of the Seven had he been thinking? But then again, that holier than thou High Sparrow likely put those thoughts in his head. 

Tommen had stated that he had wanted to be a just and wise king. She had been raised to be not simply a queen under her father's blind ambitions, but to also be a good and fair queen that the people would have adored. She could have helpled him.

So unlike that tyrannical beastly brother of his. Tommen is - was - sweet as a honeyed cake and yet he was as soft as the kittens he adored and played with when he did not attend to his kingly duties. Was there ever a sweeter person? Compassionate, kind and so sweet to a fault. 

Now, like her father and brother, he was gone. Burnt away to cinders by the mania of his own mother. What kind of monster could do that to their own blood? Her own son? Is Cersei so hungry for power that she would so cruelly take her own husband away from her?

What would happen now? Thrice wedded and once bedded. Her first husband preferred the company of her brother. Her second husband preferred to torture and maim animals to sate his innate cruelty. The third was her greatest companion and friend. 

If her grandmother comes up with some grand plot to still somehow make her queen, I don't want it. How many men must I wed just to lay a crown on her head? The crown that was on her head right now felt heavy. Heavy with burdens, shame, guilt. 

It should have been me. I should have perished. Or at the very least, we could have perished together. 

Queens, crowns, legitimacy. All of it be damned. I feel so numb in my body and heart. Is this what winter would feel like? Chilling into the bones itself? 

Her hands then went to her belly. Almost protective. Cersei Lannister took away her husband, she will not take her child away. No one will. 

She then looked to the window again. Looking at the smoldering building once known as the Great Sept of Baelor. The place she had wed the last time. 

Her crown all but tossed aside with her deft hands, her feet by the sill of the window ...

And she flew. 


	54. Crown (Sansa/Tommen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Tommen is the crown prince instead of Joffrey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only Tommen were the elder instead of Joffrey. I wouldn't mind marrying Tommen

 

It all felt a dream as the royal procession came closer to Winterfell. So many knights came to accompany the king. As he came closer though, she found him disappointing. 

This was the man that Father had described. King Robert Baratheon does indeed have dark hair and rather striking blue eyes but now he seems to be a decrepit fat man with a large black beard hiding numerous chins. The queen certainly looked as expected to be; so amazingly and strikingly beautiful with her golden hair, emerald green eyes, fair skin and surprisingly slim figure.

Once the greetings were done, she had seen him clearly. The crown prince and heir the Iron Throne; Tommen Baratheon. He takes after his mother; having golden curls adorn the crown of his head, emerald green eyes that gleamed even under the pale and dull Northern sky. He stood tall and proud on horseback next to his equally beautiful golden-haired twin sister, Myrcella Baratheon. 

Suddenly, she became aware that Prince Tommen was staring at her; giving the most pleasant smile. _He's staring right at me! He's staring right at me!!_ She wants to faint and could feel the massive blush of red creeping upon her face. _He's so handsome!!_

* * *

"Do you think Prince Tommen likes me?" Sansa asked her mother. "What if he thinks I'm ugly?"

"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived" her mother replied.

"He's so handsome ... When do you think we would be married? Soon or do we have to wait?" she said a bit impatiently

"Hush now, Sansa. Your father hasn't even said yes yet"

"Why would he say no? He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms"

"He would have to leave home. He would have to leave me ... And so would you" her mother said forlornly. 

"But you left your home to come here. And I'd be queen one day. Please make Father say yes"

"Sansa - " her mother said beginning to chastise her

"Please, it's the only thing I've ever wanted!" she all but pleaded. 

* * *

Even as she lays herself to sleep, she found herself dreaming of Prince Tommen. His easy and dazzling smile, his glistening eyes, his broadening shoulders. 

Almost everyone was his friend and he was not without his Kingsguard and sworn shield, Ser Arys Oakheart. Robb, Jon and Theon liked his company well enough as he is rather skilled and quick with a blade. A downright natural with a sword. He even offered to bring Jon as a part of his entourage and have him squire under Ser Barristan.

His sister Princess Myrcella had taken to warning her on not breaking her brother's heart. She sounded sweet yet frightening, but she is simply looking out for her brother. She would never dream of breaking the her sweet prince's heart. So sweet that he even offered words of condolences when Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower. 

"It's a shame. I had heard from your maester that even if your brother wakes, he may never walk again. I can't imagine anything like that happening to anyone; especially to someone so lively and young. I am sorry, my lady"

"Thank you for your kind words, my prince."

"Tommen. It's my name Sansa, you have my permission to use it"

* * *

He is everything she had imagined. Honourable, brave, gentle and strong. 

She honestly thought that he would have Lady killed for having assaulted his horrible little brother Joffrey. Yet, he appealed to his mother about her and the other direwolves on the account. 

He'll be the greatest king that ever will be and I'll be by his side as his queen. I'll bare him strong noble sons and all the realm will love me. He then took her by the hand as they came to the Red Keep. 

"Shall I show you the castle my lady?"

"Of course my prince" For this will be our castle; our home.


	55. Trouble with Babysitting (Jon/Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meera and Jon try to get it on but Rickon keeps cockblocking them

Keeping Rickon Stark occupied was a easy task. He could find joy in almost anything.

"I wanna watch the Power Rangers!" 

The one thing she had not been expecting was to see her boyfriend Jon Stark already. 

"Meera? Hey, what are you doing?"

"Just taking care of your baby brother? And you? I thought you were going to have a guy's night with the lacrosse guys?"

"Eh, Sammy wanted to hang around with Gilly. Grenn's on a date with Ygritte. Pyp's got a acting gig to attend to. And Satin just told me that he and Loras had plans. So, here I am":

"Waitaminute, waitaminute? Grenn? And Ygritte? Ygrinn? Ygrenn? You okay with that?"

"Let bygones be bygones. Besides, she ... is not my girlfriend anymore. Last time I checked, you are," Jon said, leaning into the couch to kiss her. 

He still tasted the same as he always did. Strangely like the type of sport's drink people would dump on the winner of the big game. Invigorating. Just as he came closer, Rickon jumped in between them. 

"Hi, Jon! Want to watch Power Rangers with Meera and me?"

Jon quickly ruffled his hair and sat down with them. 

"Rickon, which one do you like best?" Jon asked while giving her a somewhat strange look. 

"RED RANGER!!" 

"I like the White Ranger; even before when he was still the Green Ranger," Jon said eyeing her and making note of the green sweatshirt Meera was wearing. 

And the White Ranger gets the girl ... almost. Jon then yawned and snaked his arm around her. Until Rickon's extremely loud voice interrupted him. 

"The Red Ranger's still better!"

Jon then gave a wry look at Rickon's red curls and muttered, "Yeah, so he is ..."

"Hey, Rickon, want to go to the kitchen and get us all snacks?" she suggested to the small boy. He looked a bit dejected before muttering "OK!"

She then wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him closer; aching for his lips. 

"JON!! I CAN'T FIND THE COOKIES!!" 

He then gently removed himself from her and yelled out, "ITS ON THE CUPBOARD!"

"I CAN'T REACH IT!"

"YES YOU CAN RICKON! YOU'RE A BIG BOY!" she yelled out, wanting to pay more attention to Jon. 

Suddenly, they heard a crash. "JON, I BROKE THE COOKIE JAR!!'

"I'll be right back!" he sighed. Just as she turned her attention away to the TV screen, she then heard yells. 

"RICKON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PUT THOSE IN THE TRASH!"

"THREE-SECOND RULE!!"

Boys. 

Both of them then came by back to the couch with a plate filled with chocolate chip and oatmeal-raisin cookies. Her favorite. 

"Well, it's not popcorn, but it'll do" Jon said. 

"Its fine, Jon" she said. 

All of them proceeded to watch the marathon-thing that Rickon was watching. Suddenly, their hands touched as they reached to get the same cookie. Just as Jon gave her a knowing grin, Rickon quickly snatched it away from them. 

"The chocolate chip ones are mine!!" Rickon said almost possessively. 

"Rickon. Didn't your mom, dad or even your brothers and sisters teach you about sharing?" she asked, chastising him a bit. 

"Yeah! And it sucks!", Rickon said, shoving the cookie in his mouth. 

As they tried to resume their kissing, suddenly they heard a strangling sound. Choking. Rickon's choking!!

Jon suddenly pulled his baby brother close to him and furiously pressed his stomach until he spit out a giant piece of a chocolate chip. 

"See, Rickon? This is why we share," Jon said, playfully chastising his red-faced baby brother. 

"Uh huh" Rickon said breathlessly. 

He then sat him and himself back to the couch to continue watching the TV. 

"Meera, Rickon, we're back!" said the voices of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. 

"MOMMY, DADDY!!" 

"Oooh, hello sweet boy. Jon? What are you doing here back so soon?" Catelyn asked.

"Plans changed, so I decided to kickback with Ric and Meera."

"You didn't do any naughty business by any chance?" Catelyn said teasing her stepson. 

"No, no, we didn't" Jon said. Though she heard him mutter lowly, "We never got the chance too"

"Ok then, I best be going off then." Meera said. 

"You want me to drive you back home?" Jon said, his eyes filled with hope. But Eddard quickly caught wind of that and offered to drop her off instead. "It's no trouble at all, Meera"

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Jon?" she said giving him a kiss. 

"UGH! YUCK!" Rickon said, making them laugh. 

Maybe we'll have a better opportunity. 


	56. Where the Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is kidnapped by Mance Rayder, who trains him to be his successor

The wolfswood is vast. The trees reached high and far almost touching the clouds. 

I hate Theon and Robb. No not Robb, I could never hate Robb. Jon thought as he looked up to the skies. Theon had all but challenged them to a race around the wolfswood to see who was the better horseman. Theon was barely made for a horse; barely winning. Robb narrowly came in first. Jon had won but his horse had not stopped and had taken him deep within the woflswood. 

No signs of Deepwood Motte, or Sea Dragon's Point or Torrhen's Square. Not the kingsroad; not even Winterfell. 

"Where are you taking me, you great fumbling beast you?" he said chastising his horse. Suddenly, he spots an ancient watchtower up ahead. The stones that make the tower have fallen from their places and are overgrown with moss and ivy. The vault still stands, and there are no villages nearby

It'd might be best to make use of it and find Winterfell in the morn. The sun had begun to set. So, he had set his horse close by and made himself as comfortable as possible. 

As he woke up, he then saw a small group of people in front of him. A small man wearing armour made of loosely-tied bones and wearing a giant skull as a helm. A tall, lean man, with no ears;  clean shaven and bald, with grey eyes and a straight nose and bronze scale armor and a helm and wields a weirwood spear with an ornate bronze head. Beside him was a man not almost as tall with a broad chest, a massive belly, and a beard white as snow yet small flicks of fiery red still adorned it. On his massive arms are golden bands engraved with ancient runes. Next to the man with bones and skull was a slender man of middling height, but broader in the chest and shoulders and taller than him. He has long brown hair that has mostly gone gray, and laughter lines appear at the corners of his mouth, as well as a sharp face with shrewd brown eyes. 

"Well, well, look what we got here. Tis be a baby crow?" the man with bones said with a cruel voice. 

"How daft are you, Bag O' Bones? The boy's not even a crow!" said the snow-bearded man. 

"No. We've got ourselves a baby wolf instead, lads," said the slender and plain-looking man. "Last I saw you, you were still a little lad. No more than seven or eight namedays."

That's when he recognized him. He and Robb were building a great mountain of snow above the Hunter's Gate, planning to dump it on one of the passing guardsmen. He had promised not to tell anyone and they had dumped it on Fat Tom. Last he heard of him, Father and Uncle Benjen mentioned how he is the bane of the Night's Watch. 

"Y-You're Mance Rayder. The King-Beyond-the-Wall."

"Come with us, lad. No harm will come to you"

* * *

They had all come back looking haggard. Her husband looked so heartbroken and his eyes more sadder than she could have imagined. 

Jory, Rodrik, and Hal were all huffing and puffing heavily. 

Robb. Her sweet Robb. His bright blue eyes were now a sea of misery. He's trying so desperate to look like a man in front of Ned and the other men. So hard to not cry. 

The Greyjoy boy looked immensely guilty. 

Arya, Rickon and Bran wailed loudly and horribly all through the night. Robb all but shut himself in his room. Sansa remained quiet. 

Surprisingly enough, much of the household had become quiet in the past two weeks since Jon Snow had left their lives. Almost for all of his three-and ten years, she had wanted him gone. Gone from the moment he saw him. 

 _This is all your fault_ , a voice hissed at her. The voice sounded so much like an ancient Stark king; akin to crackling ice. 

Ned had all but ignored her. Not even coming to her chambers. Looking all the more haggard. 

"My love. Please, come to bed. Our bed."

"No"

"Please, my love," she pleaded taking him by the hand. Ned looked at her startled, almost wanting to smack her hand off her shoulder. 

"Is this what you wanted, my lady?" he said coldly. Rather than approach the subject, it's best to leave. 

Just as she left her husband's chambers, she overheard him mutter something. 

"I ... so ...ry ... Lya"

_Gods, forgive me._

* * *

The boy seemed happier than he had seen. Already making friends with many such as horsey-faced Del to the fiery-haired Ygritte. Even the small thick-headed boy they picked up at a farm near Queenscrown by the name of Grenn. 

Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. We're going to need him. He can help those southron fuckers understand. All the men around him had made him their king. His father was no king nor was his father. Hell, he didn't even know his father or mother for that matter. That boy probably doesn't even know his mother. 

But almost ev'ryone in the North knows his father. Everyone in the North always rallied to the Starks whenever a King-Beyond-the-Wall. Now, we have one of our own. 

They don't know what's going on beyond the Wall. 

Winter will come for those fuckers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of a three-part story.


	57. Faith (Jon/Tyene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So why do bad girls like good guys?

"Jonny!"

"Uncle Jon!!" he called out. Jon Arryn was closer to being a grandfather or a great-granduncle but he had called his godfather and namesake for as long as he could remember. 

"You look so much like your uncle Ned. And you'll be a college man soon enough. How's life treated you, Jonny boy?" Old Jon said as he lightly tapped Young Jon on the knees. 

"Pretty well actually. I've been getting top marks in most of my classes and I've become captain of the lacrosse team."

"I also heard that you inherited your Uncle Brandon's propensity for rugby as well. Anyways, Jon, I actually have need of you. I'm afraid I need to ask a favour of you"

Favour? Uncle Jon never asked me for a favour before. It must be something really important. "What is it?"

"Well, it turns out that one of my nieces Nysterica, Gods bless her, had left behind a child. She had been well-taken care of, and I've gotten to know my great-grandniece in some regard. I'd like to show her more of King's Landing but I've got to prepare for a conference about the effectiveness of crime deterrence. Anyways, my boy, I was wondering if perhaps you cou - "

"It would be an honour and pleasure to show her around, Uncle Jon. So, where is she?" 

"Close by actually. Oh, wait, there she is," he said pointing to her. She was not what he expected. For one thing, she was clearly older than him. She is fair, with golden hair, blue eyes and an almost otherworldly innocence about her. Along with the with pale white and blue shirt and cream and green-coloured skirt, it made her look all the more pure and innocent. 

"I'm Tyene. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jon Stark. Or from what my uncle says, I should be calling you Jon Jr." she said with a bright smile, showcasing her dimples. Her voice sounds like the gentle strum of a lute. 

"Just Jon is fine, Tyene, was it?"

"Yes. And I'm certain we will have the best of times," she said with a smile. 

* * *

 _How stupid I was. It'd be easy,_ I thought. She may have looked and gave the impression of an innocent maiden, but she was anything but. 

No, Tyene was as wild and unpredictable as a desert storm. Almost immediately, she went from being a seemingly innocent good girl to the ever-wild and unpredictable bad girl. 

"Oh, c'mon, Jonny. You promised Uncle Jon that you'd show me a good time. Please, don't upset me," she said with a mockingly pouting face. She looks so damn cute doing it. 

They quickly went to a club where she looked and danced like some enchanting siren. And for a moment, Jon had lost her. But quickly found her the bar, holding a cig and beautifully exhaling smoke; blowing a perfect smoke circle right at him.

"GODS! I hand't had a fag in my hand and mouth in ages!!"

"Where did you get that?"

"I had it hidden in the lining of my skirt. I just asked that guy over there for a light. Although, he did try to have me blow him for it"

Jon then found himself angry and his fist tightening. Tyene then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's just a joke. Calm down, Punisher!" she said in a calming manner. 

They then headed to a local sept which Tyene decided to deface some of the effigies with a marker. Suddenly, a weasel-faced septon took notice of them and all but chased them out. 

"Aww, I didn't even get to finish. Had I done more work, The Mother would have looked like _my_ mother!" she mischievously giggled. 

"Alright, I gotta ask. Why are you doing these things?"

"Because as nice as peace is, its just as good to bring about a little chaos! And what's life without a little bit of chaos in it?"

She does bring up a fair point. Life can be messy. 

"C'mon, Jonny. You can't honestly tell me that there wasn't something ... wild you have always wanted to do?"

"Well ... There is one thing I've ... kinda wanted to do"

"Oooh. Do tell!"

* * *

"HAHAHA! WHOO-HOOO!!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT!"

It was not exactly right. But if felt pretty good trashing Pycelle's lab. That'll teach that tattered old cunt!

"So, what exactly did the old geezer do tick you off? Other than deliberately fail you?"

"Deliberately pass "Golden Boy" Joffrey Baratheon while he didn't do jack but sit and fall asleep."

"Well, trust me when I say this; I've had experience with old grey-sunken cunts. I used to attend the School of the Sorrowful Sisters until I was ten. They nearly expelled me for simply kissing a boy. That and they've always had a problem with the length of my skirt. Luckily for me, my Dad took in the reins from there. I'm lucky to have him, how bout you? Your family?"

"I never really knew my dad. My uncle Ned, had taken care of me for most of my life, me and my mom. My mom's pretty great but whoever my dad was ... it messed her up in a way. Whenever I asked her about him, she would stay silent for days. Once, I thought that my uncle Ned was my dad when I was little, because we look so much alike."

"So, you thought that your mom and uncle ..."

"NO! Nonono. I wondered if I was actually his son with some other woman and it was when I was little!"

Why am I telling this girl all of this? 

"Y'know ... we haven't _really_ messed up this place."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this is a chem lab. Maybe we should leave behind some ... explosive, questionable fluids?"

She then strutted closer to him. Her hips gently swaying left and right; each movement an ardent seduction. "You know what they taught me at the Sorrowful Sisters? They taught me earlier on about the ... importance of womanhood. The Book of the Maiden was very enlightening. One of the first and prominent messages stuck with me. 'As for you, be fruitful and increase in number; multiply on the earth and increase upon it.' So, care to multiply with me, Jonny Boy?"

Her shirt and skirt were on the floor, and she completely nude. Her breasts round and ripe and her nipples bright and rosy. Before he could say anything, she cupped him through his pants and began to rub slowly and steadily. She then unzipped his pants and gently kissed his hardening cock. In a swift motion, she removed his shirt and gently guided him to the floor; placing her hands on his hips. 

Tyene then rubbed her hands all around his thighs, causing his hardened cock to lunge at her face. She then moved to align their hips together, gently placing her dainty hands on his chest. She then dropped herself onto his cock; moaning placidly. His hands then reached up to cup her breasts; making her moan more. "That's it. Ooh, that's good. Had a lot of experience with girls, haven't you, Jonny boy?", she cooed at him while she kept riding him like a pommel horse. Tyene suddenly started to move faster, and Jon then moved his hands from her breasts to her thighs, to her arse while giving it a light squeeze. 

"Oooh, you _soo_ know what I like, Jonny boy!" she moaned. She then kept moving faster; the sounds of their flesh slapping together echoed in the empty classroom. She then moaned so loudly; he realized that she had reached her climax as he did. She then giggled and stared at something. "Look at that. Explosive, questionable fluids!" she giggled, taking note of the mess they created together. "Whoo-hoo. That was fun! We should do that again. Maybe ... in a different room. There any other teachers that ticked you off?"

* * *

"Thank you very much for taking care of Tyene for me, Jonny! 

"It wasn't a problem, Uncle Jon," he said. _Mostly because she had taken care of me. A lot._

And it didn't help that Tyene kept making hand-shaking movements toward her face, while Jon Arryn wasn't looking. 

"We actually had a lot of fun, Uncle Jon. I might just make another visit."

"'Tis a shame that you must leave so soon."

"I know but I have to. I spent a week away from university, and I have to get back. Plus, I miss my family in Dorne, and I know they miss me."

"You remind me so much of Nys. Except you don't have that wild streak about her"

_Oh, Uncle Jon. If only you knew._

"Bye, Uncle Jon," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Bye Jonny Boy," she said, also giving him a kiss on the cheek. She then whispered in his ear, "Next time I come, use your tongue"

 _Please come back soon then_ , he thought as she turned and went to the airport gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyene being Jon Arryn's grandniece is based off this theory:  
> http://asongoftheories.tumblr.com/post/55331281201/the-possible-heritage-of-tyene-sand


	58. Guardian (Jon & Grenn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'll swear anything. But mostly importantly, I swear to never let anyone harm Jon. My king, my brother, and my friend.

When the Long Night had come, he did not think that he would live. 

Yet, a few of them did. Many of the more untrained; haggard old men and boys greener than him, had been sent to the slaughter. 

It seemed so long ago. The Wall no longer there; and the Land of Always Winter pushed further back into the sea. 

Pyp, Sam, Satin, Emmett, Arron and Emrick, Hareth, Arnell, Halder, Jeren. Whatever was left of the Night's Watch, was no more. 

Many who had perished had been good friends of his. Todder. Mully, Bedwyck, Garth Greyfeather, Ulmer. They will be missed. 

Others not so much. Men the likes of Rast or Karl Tanner of Gin Alley. No one would miss Thorne. That old cunt would have likely sold them all for the "good of the Watch"

I wonder if he's ruefully laughing, and regretting that he ever called Jon "Lord Snow". He'd likely be mocking him still; calling him the King of Bastards. 

The one thing that remained of the Night's Watch were some of the castles that didn't perish; the ones given to the wildlings. Stonedoor, Hoarforst Hill, Queensgate, Deep Lake, Sablehall, Woodswatch, Long Barrow, Sentinel Stand, and Icemark. The ones that did perish had been used to rebuild the place Jon had called home. 

The only other thing that remained of the Watch, were their now tattered black cloaks. Those who remained became the Raven's Teeth; Jon's own personal guard.

He never believed that he would ever see that capital in all of it's glory. From what he had heard from Todder; King's Landing smelled as bad as whore after being spent and filled with a man's seed. That must have been the old King's Landing. Even as the streets were being rebuilt, it stank of something burnt. 

Jon then called him forward. Right by his side was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Even after all this time, it still perplexed him. Jon; a prince now a king. He was no longer Jon Snow; no, now he's Jon Targaryen, King of the First Men, the Andals and the Rhoynar. No, but he had always been Jon to him. 

We've both grown since then. Jon now a lean and fierce leader in battle, a skilled and hardened commander, and an honourable and just king. He was no longer the bumbling clumsy oaf who could barely swing a sword. Grenn stood tall and proud at nearly seven feet. A head taller than the knight of the Hollow Hill. 

At first, he felt nervous. But then things became clear as he saw the Lord Commander hold out a bright white cloak. He barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. All of it felt like a dream. 

"I-I_I do so solemnly swear"

"Then arise. Ser Grenn the White Aurochs!"

He'll swear anything. But mostly importantly, I swear to never let anyone harm Jon. My king, my brother, and my friend.


	59. Freedom!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Omyfuckinggod, Rickon!! Stop fucking my friends!!"  
> Rickon keeps seducing and sleeping with his older sisters friends much to her annoyance (Lyanna Mormont, Dorea Sand, Myrcella and Shireen Baratheon, etc)

He was pounding into her like crazy. She was certainly tanner than most girls he had seen, yet that made her all the more enticing. He didn't bother being gentle. She was by no means a blushing maiden, so he figured she could take him full-on and without restraint. With every thrust, he could hear moans and groans, sounds loud and desperate enough to be embarrassing. It took him a moment to realize that half of those sounds were coming from himself, which made him buck his hips with more force. 

"Oh gods, yes! Fuck me like the wolf you are!" The girl screamed out in a husky way that Rickon couldn't help but find sexy and endearing.

Rickon responded with a growl and an increase in the rhythm of his hips. He himself let out another loud groan of pleasure, his nails digging into the hips of .... whatever-her-name-is, leaving half-moon pink marks all over her flesh. Every so often he'd lean over and lightly nibble on her neck and back; lingering and faintly teasing that he could break into the skin. There were no chaste kisses, no professions of love, and it was **awesome**.

Until his sister opened the door. There was a beat of awkward silence as Arya took in the scene.  "Rickon, _OMG_?!" Arya exclaimed, throwing her hands out in frustration.

"I-Is that ... Dorea??!"

Oh, that's right. Dorea was her name. One of the famed Sand Snakes. No wonder she kept chanting "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken" when he all but slammed into her. 

"Ugh ... Hi, Arya ..."

"H-Hey, big sis. Uh, how you doing?"

"Feeling mortified at the sight of my baby brother fucking one of my best friends!!"

* * *

Both of them kept moaning and groaning like pained animals. He had to admit that she was pretty, just about a year older than her. 

"You like it like that?" he crooned at her. 

"Hmmm. I LOVE it like that Rickon! But ... "

But? But what? "But ... what?"

"Ever fucked a girl while slamming her almost into the wall?"

I like where this is going. So, he then removed himself from her, then picked her up and neatly pressed her up against the wall. 

She then pinched him on the shoulder. "I said _slam_ "

"As mi'lady commands!!" 

He then slammed her to the wall as hard as he could muster. She was not sweet blushing maid like Dorea, and liked it all the same. 

"H-Harder!!"

She then wrapped her legs around his hips, while he grabbed on to hers. Trying to be careful with his thrusts due to the angle, yet she didn't care in the least. She wanted his cock inside her and she wanted it pounding into her tight wet folds. 

"Here I Stand, Here I Stand, Here ... I ... STAND!!" she screamed out in ecstasy. 

"Oy, Rickon. Did you take my _ OHMYGOD!!"

"Christ, Arya! Ever hear of knocking?"

"Lyanna? What the hell are you doing?"

"Apparently your brother!" Lyanna said with a cheeky grin. How could I forget? Rumour had it that all the Mormont girls were wildlings in the streets and in the sheets!

* * *

She is truly an enticing beauty. Her skin as dusky as the night sky beginning its arrival. Her eyes practically piercing into his soul and looked like molten gold. Her face is round and flat and her body firm yet still somewhat doughy. 

When she began to climax, she sounded almost like she was about to burst into song. She woke up to the sight of him; glaring at his form and a wry smile adorning her lips.

"You were very good to this one"

"This one? Sorry if your cunt got all the attention. I'll pay more attention to your tight little arsehole. I just need to rest my little soldier before he heads first into the battlefield."

His jest earned a giggle from her. She then gazed at his crotch. "It appears your soldier is standing at attention!"

Rickon then flipped her to her belly, and then pointed her lovely arse toward him, gently guiding himself into her slick and tight hole. 

"Enjoying the attention now, aren't we?"

"Y-Y-YEESSSSSS!!"

Both of them beginning to pant quite heavily. 

Suddenly, he heard a knock at his door. "Rickon! Open up, we're going to be late for school!"

Fuck! He had completely forgotten that today was a school day. He had been excited to have her for the night. Deceiving his parents in the night was one thing. How was he going to get out of this one?

"I'll, uh, I'll be out in a second!"

"You better not be!" she harshly whispered at him. 

Arya then began to pound at his door. "Open up, you wanker! Don't make me tear down this fucking door!!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

He should not have tested Arya's patience. She kicked the door and gave a horrified gasp. 

"Missandei?"

"uh, Hi, Arya!"

"Ugghh. I can't even  - Just get out of your room and out of my friend!!"

"Arya, gross!"

"You know what I mean!"

* * *

She kept masterfully teasing him; soft gentle strokes on his manhood until it was a hard as a rock. "Ooohh. Sweet, sweet Cella," he moaned her name shortly after. Her hands and fingers are quite dainty and deft. 

The other one kept letting out adorable little squeaks and noises as her cousin kept moving her other hand around her; traveling along her body and pushing the boundaries she placed on herself. He doubted that she felt any sort of pleasure like that in a lifetime. The idea of being celibate practically made him shiver with dread. 

He had to admit that they complimented each other well enough. One blonde of hair, one dark of hair. Both looked innocent enough, yet the blond could play at it more than the dark-haired beauty. The blonde girl was ever a classic beauty with ample-sized breasts and hips while the black-haired girl had small but shapely breasts and a relatively slim figure. The burns on her face did not make her any less beautiful. 

Alas, this night was certainly not without its surprises. Cella had placed her hand close to Shiree's cunt; her deft dainty fingers pushing in and out of her cunt. Her moans coming all the more faster. She was climaxing and didn't even know it. I might have fucked a septa for all I knew, if it meant she was going to squeal so beautifully, if not in such a short time. How long had it been? Seven, ten minutes, maybe? Cella didn't seem to mind at all, and all but pushed her closer to the edge of his bed. 

Just as he began to put his own fingers in her cunt, she started to cry out. "Ohh, Myr-Myrce-Myrcella!" Shiree cried out between soft huffs of pleasure muffled by Cella's alluring purs. It was then that he realized they had forgotten all about him. He scowled, though more confused than anything else. Forget him? No, no, it surely couldn't... Have I lost my magic touch?

"Er- hey, la-ladies-" He reached out a hand between them, in hopes of worming himself in somewhere. They hadn't even noticed, so caught up in their own fun. He then took drastic measures, practically throwing himself on top of them. Cella rolled her and Shiree out from under him, giving Shireen her turn on top.

Yet again ignored. Rickon was starting to feel a bit cheated about now. This was supposed to be a threesome, so why wasn't he getting any attention? Seven Hells, he was the only one in the room with a _cock for Gods' sake_! Just how many things _could_ two women do alone for pleasure?

"Oh, feeling left out, our little wild and wanton wolf?" Cella said, with a teasing smile. She then whispered something to Shiree that caused her to blush madly. Just as he began to ponder what it was, he figured it out. Cella turned his attention to his cock again; teasing him this time with her beautiful and talented tongue and mouth. Shiree then came closer to his chest, gently hovering her cunt close to his face. He let out a devilish grin as he began to take her with his mouth. 

It was an orgasmic symphony. Something he did not wish to stop. 

"Rickon! Rickon, open up. Jon said he was going to take us to Long Lake today."

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! How is it Arya always interrupts me when I'm having a great time?

"Rickon! C'mon! I know you're not sleeping"

_No, but I am in heaven. So, quite close to it._

"Please tell me your just skinning your sausage or something. Just hurry up and come out!"

Skinning my sausage, no. More like moistening it. And I wish I could hurry. 

"I sweat to the fucking Gods Rickon, I **will** kick the door down again!"

Shiree then let out a loud moan that she couldn't suppress any longer. 

Arya then kicked the door down as promised. "Seriously?! Myrcella? Shireen?!"

"H-Hi, Arya" Shireen said shyly whereas Myrcella barely said a thing. Her cheeks to full of ... She then let out a small gulp. 

Arya then looked back at him, deadpan. "Rickon. Please, get off and out of my friends. Let's go to Long Lake, and then I'll rip your guts and wring your neck with them. Jon and I will bury your body and hold a small service. Your tombstone will read 'Here lies Rickon Stark, Biggest Wanker Whom Ever Lived', Now, if you may ..."

Now, he felt scared. "Alright, ladies. If you could just ...?" Both of them got the message, getting off his bed and combing the corners for their clothes. 

I need to re-evaluate my choices. First being, hang out with Arya more. She has some pretty hot friends!


	60. Reunion (Jon & Arya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face.

She couldn't stop herself. It almost hurt her ribs to be crying so long and hard. Her cries muffled by the crook of Jon's neck. 

Jon held her as tightly as he could, rubbing small circles on her back as he did. Calmly and quietly soothing her. 

He was crying like her, but he did it in silence, as he did most things. Nonetheless, she could feel the fattest of tears falling from his eyes and landing on her head. 

"It's alright. Shhh. It's alright, little sister"

This ... this was what she missed the most. She would have given anything for Jon to call her “little sister” and muss her hair. Even if he wasn't her big brother anymore. 

But that didn't matter. They were wolves, in their skins and in their blood and their heart of hearts. 

"You won't believe just how ... I missed you so, little sister"

Jon then pulled her away for a moment and gave pressed his lips against the temple of her head.

That tore at her heartstrings. How his voiced rumbled lowly as he called her his little sister. Brother, not cousin. Stark, never Snow. Jon would _always_ be her brother. 

She just held him tighter, and he did the same. And she would still hold him until she lost all feeling in her arms. 

To make sure it was real; to make sure that it was not a dream. And if it was, she'd kill the person who'd dare wake her up. 


	61. Speed-Dater (Robert & Stannis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert helps set up his brother with dates with various ladies. Somehow, it comes to bite him in the ass when his little brother gets more action than him within a span of a month than he had in the whole year

I regret everything. 

Not once did I think that Stannis of all people, would get more action then me. But stranger things have happened. My best friend Ned Stark is dating the most hottest girl in the Academy. 

_"Where are you taking me this time Robert? It'd better not be another whorehouse!"_

_"Some place that will help you."_

_Stannis then looked up at the sign._

_"Dating? Speed dating? No. Nonononono. I'm out of here!"_

_"C'mon, Stannis!"_

_"Is this some half-assed attempt to apologize for the whorehouse incident?"_

_"Part of it. But I also want you to have some fun. You ... need a girl. I mean, I have girls out the wazoo and even Ned has a girl. An amazingly hot girl!"_

_"Robert ..."_

_"Look, if you don't like it, you can leave. But at the very least try your hand at it. C'mon, Stanny. Whaddya say?"_

_He then sighed. "Alright, alright. But you're buying me steak dinner afterwards"_

I am honestly surprised on how many dates Stannis has gone on. I'm more surprised that he even managed to convince a girl to go out with him.

What was more surprising was how many of those dates were ending. 

Shortly after his date with debate team captain Mariya Darry, he clearly heard them suck face. Surprisingly enough, he began to hear something else entirely. 

_"OOOH!! YOU FEEL SO GOOD STANNIS! YOU FEEL SO GOOD!!"_

As they came out of the room, both of them looked very, very ... spent. 

_"I had a great time! Maybe ... we can do this another time?"_

_"Maybe. ... Thank you for the intercourse?"_

_"You ... are **very** welcome!"_

And that wasn't the worst of it.

No, not a damn chance. The worst part was the girls came flowing. And none of them for me.

Shortly after came doe-eyed Mylenda Caron and then short-and-sweet Jeyne Swann, and the ever-delightful Gwyneth Morrigen. All of them had delightfully sucked on Stannis' sour stony face. 

More even hotter girls the came by.   
Lysa Tully's practically pressed those delicate-looking tits at Stannis' face. The next thing he knew was hearing the both of them going at it in Stannis' room; with a lot of enthusiasm _. "OH, STAAANNISS!"_ she heard her cry out.   
Shy and lovely Lia Serry eagerly and loudly made out with Stannis. Taking his hands and putting them all over her willowy body; from her small boobs to her shapely ass.  
The hottest freshman Delena Florent and Lynesse Hightower eagerly came to him. Delena with her ample-sized boobs for a fourteen-year-old, and Lynesse with her golden-blonde hair and cream-coloured skin and her surprisingly big boobs.   
Janna Tyrell and her massive jugs. That should be me! I should be the one eagerly being motor-boated by those massive tits! Not ... Stannis. 

Even Cersei Lannister, my recent ex-girlfriend came by. At first he could tell that it was mostly to make him jealous. That was until he heard moans of pure pleasure, and gleefully shouting "OHH, STANNIS! YOU'RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN ROBERT!!"

And surprisingly enough, in spite of repeatedly chastising me for my "proclivities", Stannis actually seems ... happier. Stannis has never been the "smiley" sort of person, but his stony face now bears something akin to a lopsided smirk. 

"So, you decided on any of these lovely ladies to be your official girlfriend yet, Stanny?"

"Ugh, no, not really. I'm still dating them, actually."

"And ... do they know?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Even after you ..."

"Surprisingly enough, yeah. I'm not exactly ... exclusive with any one of them. But it's not like I went all the way if everyone of them too. Oh, and just so you know: Janna's breasts; very and immensely real"

Lucky bastard.

"Anyway, I'm taking Lysa out today at that nice little Braavosi place; the Titan's Cafe. Could I get fifty bucks extra? Besides, I figure you owe me for all those times you asked me to spring you whatever I had in my wallet"

"Yeah, sure, man." Robert said, reluctantly handing Stannis a fifty-dollar bill. "Just, ugh, don't get too crazy."

"I won't. I, ugh, can't exactly say the same for them. Oh, and can you make sure that Renly doesn't eat too many sweets? He gets nightmares right after and an occasional tummy ache. Cressen's phone number is on the fridge. Gotta go, I'll see you later"

Dear Gods, I've created a monster!


	62. Reunion (Jon & Sansa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again.

Cold.

If Sansa were honest, she was actually surprised that the biting cold was what she felt the most. Actually, it was probably a wonder that she was still able to feel at all, for after what she'd both seen and endured, it would well have been within her rights to believe that she was no longer capable of experiencing any hint of emotion at all anymore.

Her skin twitched at the thought, flinching backwards slightly as if Joffrey's words, so cruel and taunting and unable to feel the slightest hint of compassion towards those he so easily hurt, had hit her once again. As if the long and bony hand of her Aunt Lysa had snuck up her back and her cold fingers had latched onto her neck, sharp nails biting into her flesh as the older woman would hiss sniveling lies into her ears while daring her to look out of her prized Moon Door. The way Lord Littlefinger had tried to ease his way into her skirts until she all but cleaved off his little fingers off his delicate little hands.

Her anxious disposition must have crept into her mount also, for her white mare tossed it's head back-and-forward as it whinnied in anticipation, stomping it's hoofs in the frozen ground beneath them, and the eldest Stark daughter felt a tendril of pure and utter dread settle deep in her stomach as they waited, and waited, and waited. _Oh by the Old gods and the New, it felt like an eternity!_

But whatever halt in time their initial arrival had caused, it went as soon as it came, and slowly –oh so slowly- did the two gigantic gates grind open in a deafening noise, and Sansa barely had the leisure of taking one long shaking breath and let it out in a trebling exhale before the gentle beast beneath her took a step forward. It was too late to turn back now, and she could only pray that she had not just escaped one Hell to enter another. She had experienced at firsthand how men could so easily prance upon the occasion to commit the vilest and cruelest deeds to those incapable of defending themselves. And Sansa wasn't in a any position to do as such. And the stares the men (and boys) were offering her as the white mare slowly made it's way to the main court sent her skin crawling.

Once, long ago, Sansa might not have come to expect the worst of men, but that girl had long since burnt out, the cruelty of the real world she had endured in King's Landing had taught her to think otherwise.Her hands clutched the reigns now, desperate for some form of anchor as she cast a fearful glance around Castle Black, a place she had only previously heard of through songs and her Uncle Benjen, and the reality of it was a lot bleaker than the tales of old.

Eventually coming to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, and the suffocating feeling of being trapped was quick to surface, as, turning her horse around on itself Sansa realized with dread that there was nowhere for her to run. She was suddenly grateful for the fact that heartbeats did not emit a very perceivable sound, for if it had, there was no doubt that her own could probably be heard from the far-likes of Winterfell and other places of the same distance. A shaking hand came to her horse's neck, and Sansa tried to steady her limb as it went up and down, up and down, up and down in what was a vain attempt at a soothing motion (whether for herself or the horse, she still wasn't too sure yet), anything to take her mind off the fact that there was nowhere to escape to and that the mare beneath her was still very real, and a very possible means for a flight if the need arose.

That hope didn't last long though, for soon enough with sickening dread that Sansa realized she has no other choice but to set foot aground. Her hand lingered on the soft white fur once she had found her balance, desperate to still preserve her one saving grace and when it touched thin air when the horse was lead away, Ned Stark's eldest daughter could swear she might have lost her balance and tripped forward, her anchor to safety now gone, vanishing into thin air.

She bit her lip and upon realizing her hands were trembling, Sansa shoved them under her cloak _any hint of weakness and they would use it to their advantage._  Much like Walder Frey when her Mother and brother had been massacred at the Twins, he had done nothing but watched in sickening glee as the life was wrenched out of her family. And as heiress to Winterfell, she couldn't let such a thing happen again: the Starks were strong, Starks endured, Starks were survivors, and as far as she was aware, she was the last of them.

It was with a pang that she realize dhow dearly she missed those she had once deemed but annoying siblings –Robb's calm and aspiring demeanor, Arya's ever incessant wishes to be anything but ladylike, Bran's reserve and placidity, Rickon's eagerness and infectious smile. And then there was-

_Jon._

Turning around to the wooden stairwell leading into Castle Black itself, Sansa didn't dare to believe it at first. (She'd let wishful thinking and childish beliefs hurt her too much already to let herself sink into them again). But after a moment of silence and the vision still had not vanished, the young man –tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, and so very like _Father_ \- could only be one person. _Jon._

And the bubble of warmth that bloomed in her chest at the sight of him had never been something Sansa would have thought she'd experience at the sight of her half-brother, the bastard she had always tried to push away and mock for his possibly less-than-noble parentage. But he was whole and he was there and he was real –and still _very much alive_ , and she kept her eyes on him the whole time he descended the few steps separating him from the ground, a gait so similar to the once Lord of Winterfell, afraid that if she averted her gaze for but a second, it would turn into a faded vision and disappear forever, like the rest of her family had.

She felt herself twitch in anticipation again, but unlike a moment ago, where dread and fear had coursed through her body, now it was impatience and eagerness, it was trying to imagine what the next five seconds might be like and wishing Jon were already down there over and over again, yet when he finally reached the battered grounds of Castle Black, she dared not move, not even when he took a few steps towards her, the look of disbelief still clearly painted on his face.

He was but a few feet away now, having come to a halt in front of her, not daring to invade her personal space, and the thought that Jon might actually be afraid of her rejecting him (which, if Sansa were honest, he was well within his rights to believe given how little she had had to do with him when they had still been a family in Winterfell, back when things had seemed so easy and bright) broke her heart. Did he really believe her to hate him still, after having being separated for so long? Did he really believe her words to him all those years ago still rung true?

In that moment, she began to recall their memories together. Any memory. But there were none. Just the ones she had prided herself in when she took pride in being the eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn Tully and Lord Eddard Stark. How she thought numerous times that he didn't deserve to be at Winterfell. How he shouldn't have been born, if it was just meant to cause her mother strife. Telling him along with Jeyne Poole how no one would dare kiss his bastard lips. _Why can't I remember the good ones? I know that they're some, I know it!!_

It would seem so, for as a few moments past, moments in which nobody dared utter a word, Jon had yet to move, and to see him like that, gaunt, exhausted and almost apprehensive of how she might react urged Sansa into proving him wrong, and for once, just once, she let go of any lady like advice her Mother had once taught her, breaking into a run to cover that short distance separating them as quickly as possible before jumping into her brother's arms and wrapping her own behind his back, hoping it would convey how much it meant to her that, after everything, he was still there for her.

Head buried in his shoulder, Sansa wished she could utter the words that she so badly needed to say to him _I missed you so much,_ or _I'm so sorry for how I treated you,_ or even yet _I still want you to be my brother,_ but her throat felt suddenly unable to give a voice to what she wanted to tell him so badly, and the feeling of strong arms coming to wrap themselves around her back and hugging her close ( _like Father's would once upon a time_ ) urged her to bury her face in his shoulder, the feeling warmth, of Winterfell, family and _Jon_ bringing tears to her eyes.

And maybe to the outer world, it would just be seen as a sister's delight at being reunited with a long lost family member, but for Sansa, it was more than that: Jon was the only thing she had left, he was her brother _, he was home._

And right now, that would be enough.


	63. Saudade (Bonifer/Rhaella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His passion was impossible of course. A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of royal blood

He could feel it. His life ... slowly slipping away. 

The monstrous champion that the vile queen had selected to defend her defeated. Thick black ooze tainting his pristinely coloured armour. Making him more like the monster he was. \

But then again, what made up the creature was a truly monstrous sight. The body of Ser Gregor Clegane the Mountain that Rides, and the head of the former king Joffrey atop. 

Aerys the III, many had called this boy. Yet, the highborn and smallfolk were right. He was much like Aerys; rarely giving and only taking. 

_Like he had taken Rhaella._

His mind had wandered back to her. How beautiful she was; her beautiful pale unblemished skin, those lovely lilac eyes that looked as if they had freshly bloomed, and her beautiful pale blond hair. How it felt to hold her close to his body as they sweetly kissed one another. 

I can still see that bright smile etched onto her face, as I proclaimed her my Queen of Love and Beauty. The love she had for him had given him strength. The sweet and fervent touches and kisses that lead to after. 

Yet that would be no more as she was bound by duty, and him to low to be a fit enough consort. 

The Maiden was the only thing that could try to fill the void left in his heart by her. Had he been more high-born or she not as bound by duty, they would have been happy together. _If only._

Now the Stranger calls for me; reaching out his hand for him. And he would accept it.

Yet, as the figure comes closer, he could see that the Stranger was not as faceless as the Seven. For the Stranger was not truly a stranger. It was someone so ... familiar. 

"Bonifer," a voice called out. A woman's voice. _No, it can't be..._

"R-R-Rhae-Rhaella?" his voice faintly croaked out. His heart skipped a beat. 

It was her; really and truly her. Looking as beautiful as he remembered her. 

"You have fought hard for so long, my love. Come to me. No one can keep us apart now"

She was right. He won't be long for this world anymore. 

"Just take my hand, Bonifer. Take my hand" she said so sweetly, stretching out her arm. He began to do the same as well. 

But as he had, he found himself beside her; in front of her. That smile ... the same smile from before. 

"No one can keep us apart from where we're going, my love," she said, giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek. 

"Not my father or mother. And certainly not Aerys. He's where he deserves to be" she said, darker than intended. But he had never lived with and endured everything Aerys II Targaryen had thrown at people as he did to her. What he did to her was an affront to all gods or knights who dare strike a maiden as pure, kind-hearted and noble as her. 

Aerys cannot haunt her or get in his way. Not this time. And he will not let anyone else harm her, no matter what.

For wherever they would go, they would be together. Always and forever. 


	64. Duel (Stannis/Janna, Mace)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go awry when Stannis asks Lord Tyrell for Lady Janna's hand and must face Mace Tyrell in combat for it.

Mace, you stupid oaf. 

What on earth were you thinking? Rhaegar had already lost one queen, and had gained another in that wolf-girl of the North. 

Mina had already wed Lord Arryn's nephew and become the new head of the new House Arryn of Gulltown. A betrothal then marriage to a Baratheon of Storm's End would be prudent to us!

_"Tut, tut, Mother. Janna will be a queen!"_

How on earth could I have birthed such an oaf for a son? I should have taken more time to strike some sense into that thick head of yours. Many times in many generations, while sparse, House Targaryen has looked to their kin in the Stormlands for a bride. Through this boy, their own child could be that bride. And if not, a good alliance nonetheless. 

She could have told him that or to wait until Alerie births a girl so that she could be the bride to Rhaegar's heir. But that would take too long. 

Stannis Baratheon was quite the impressive specimen in his own right. While he was not as tall or handsome as his lordly elder brother, Robert, he was quite handsome nonetheless. His coal dark hair short, neat and trim, his jaw clean, even if it made him look a bit grim. His blue eyes were so intense and dark that they nearly looked black. 

He certainly lacks his brother's charms, but he has a good head on his shoulders. Actually quite witty as well. It's no wonder why her daughter was quite taken with him. He had been supposedly sent as his brother's behest to try to court a "lovely maiden from the Reach". But from Janna had told me, she had done most of the courting. And unlike his brother, he's nowhere near as oafish and stupid. A bit too serious mayhaps.

Mayhaps Cassana and Steffon should have beat more sense into their boy before their untimely demise? From what she had heard, he rarely did the ruling of his homelands, leaving it to his uncle or maester but more often his brother. And Stannis is to be granted the Rainwood; a good powerful seat that we could do trade with. 

But no. The Dunderhead of the Reach can't tell his head from his arsehole. Now, he has the audacity to tell Stannis that he is unfit for his sister and made it worse by challenging him. 

Both of them made it to the courtyard fully armoured. Mace looks like a bigger idiot with that beautifully ornate armour of his. Vines-and-leaves and roses decorated all around the breastplate and greaves. He looks more a fool with that giant blue feather atop his helm. He must be the biggest fool to try to look like a perfect true knight. 

Stannis Baratheon on the other hand did not armour himself in that same manner. No, his armour was not overly ornate but simple grey plate armour adorned with the sigil of his house. It showcased his broad shoulders and strong sinewy muscles. 

Janna quickly came to Stannis, wrapping a small ribbon around his arm. She's granting him her favour. She must actually like him, or really wants to see her oafish brother beaten to a pulp. ... Or mayhaps both. She then whispered something to the young Baratheon and them gave him a small kiss on the cheek, making the already stoic young man go as red as a beet. 

His mildly love-struck look was quickly replaced with one of determination as she eyed Mace. 

"I am sorry, Ser Stannis. But you are simply not fit for my fair maiden sister. She is made for those with the blood of the dragon!" Mace declared while aiming his sword at him. 

"You forget yourself, Lord Tyrell. I am of the dragon's blood. Mayhaps I should show you the fury of the house so desperately seek along with my own?"

And like the fool he is, Mace charged heads toward Stannis. Stannis moved away quickly, and just as quickly blocked his oncoming strike. Mace continued his assault with numerous powerful blows and Stannis blocked and parried each one until he managed to strike at Mace's side which he left completely unprotected. Mace took a quick note of that, changing his stance ... poorly. Stannis took note of that and had been able to trip him by swinging his sword at his feet. Just as Mace tried to get up, in a swift, fluid motion, Stannis brought his blade close to Mace's neck. 

"I ask that you yield, Lord Tyrell"

"NO. NEVER! I WILL GROW STRONG!"

"I think you've done enough growing" Stannis said, pointing his sword to Mace's growing belly. 

HA! I like this boy!

" ... Alright then. I ... yield," Mace said sulkily. 

Janna then went to Stannis, giving him another kiss which turned him a red as a Dornish pepper. At least he's not an oaf.


	65. Amidst the Dragonflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off these theories: asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php?/topic/96492-a-dragonfly-among-the-reeds-is-howland-reed-the-grandson-of-duncan-the-small/, https://cantuse.wordpress.com/2014/07/28/the-red-sun-rises-the-glass-candle-burns-the-lost-targaryen-prince/

She had ran. Ran so fast and hard that she felt as if her feet would fall off. 

_I never wanted this. I was just a girl in love. I never asked for this._

The image of her husband still burned in her mind. His broad shoulders and chest, dark brown hair, and shrewd black eyes. His easy smile. Them his screeches of pain began to echo in her head. 

When she had first met him, her heart had stopped and skipped a beat. He had only meant to find someone to help mend his horse's shoe. She had only meant to find some prettier flowers to weave into her hair. Her mother often told her not to wander to far from the Neck. 

 _Duncan. My Duncan. Mayhaps it would have been better if you had not met me. You would have succeed your father, and married to a far prettier lady as your wife who would bare you good strong sons._  As much as she could try to will it out, she can't imagine her life without him. 

Love is not only blinding but it is foolish. What is a crown of gold or iron compared to the crowns fo flowers we gave one another? 

 _"If I married to you, you'll be my family. I will think of you, and love only you"_ Those words brought a pang to her heart. 

But now, she is almost back to her home. She just needed to rest ... in the place where her Prince of Dragonflies had found her. The ruin for which she was found around. She then put a hand around her belly. She should have told them, and she never got a chance to tell him but it wouldn't matter. They would find some way to blame me for the fire. 

Home. My old home. But neither luck nor the gods were on her side. As she made it to the swamps, bogs and crannogs, she had felt pains in her belly. No, not now. But she could not will the babe to stop coming. The pain began to overwhelm her that she screamed. 

Someone took note of her, quickly putting her into the nearest crannog. She could barely tell who he was. She knew that it was a man, that much she knew. But she was to blinded by pain to take note of anything else. All she took note of was that it was a man with a heavy black cloak held up by a pin of some kind and that he was of average height. She then heard a woman's voice. When did she get here?

"You have to push my lady! The baby's head is crowning!"

Would I be able to see Duncan again through my baby's face? She then began to push with all her might. If she were considered more of a noble, mayhaps their children would be princes and princesses. 

Just then, she began to hear the wails of a babe. "A boy, milady!" she heard the man say. She wishes her friend could be here. But she felt herself begin to drift away. A lone dragonfly buzzing lazily around her. _Why do people call it that? It looks nothing like a dragon. But neither did Duncan._ She then began to see a myriad of images and hear a myriad of voices. 

For a moment, she thought she saw Duncan again. Except that the face was sharper. Her son, mayhaps? She then saw what appeared to be an army of people wearing furs scattered across lands of ice. She then saw men dressed in black, echoing words that evoked some sense of purpose and trust. Gentle strings of a lute strummed together. A clanging of blades. A gust of cold winds blowing past them. 

"Wall ... Watcher ... Crow ... Beyond ... King"

And then everything went to black. To darkness.


	66. In Soiled Satin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life and name of a young man before he came to the Wall to serve under the person who calls him ... friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Satin may have done in Oldtown, he is our brother now, and he will be my squire

Things had been so much simpler. When he wasn't Satin of Oldtown; the Whore of the Hightower. No, his mother had the honour of bearing that title. 

As he stared at the lands beyond the Wall, he found himself thinking back. Thinking back to the days of simplicity; the days when he bore his true name. 

* * *

_"Mallor! Mallor!"_

_Both of them had screeched loudly till he caught up to them. For singers, they had looked ridiculous. Mostly Wat due to being dipped head to toe in blue; including his hair. As ridiculous as he looked, Wat the "Blue Bard", as he came to call himself, was quire a handsome lad. But he was more a musician than a singer._

_Dareon on the other hand, still had a rather boyish look and a slender figure for nineteen years. Smooth skinned, and sandy haired, and a fairly dazzling smile. He is an aspiring songwriter, and plays both the fiddle and woodharp. The others in their troupe claimed that his voice was like "honey poured over thunder." Dareon has a looser tongue than most singers should and quick temper._

_Lord Mathis Rowan's feast was quite the spectacle as expected. Jugglers, dancers, and most importantly, themselves the singers. Many had asked for "A Cask of Ale", "The Bear and the Maiden Fair", yet he all but bellowed out his favourite song; "The Dornishmen's Wife"_

**_His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,_ **

**_and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,_ **

**__"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,__ **

**_the Dornishman's taken my life,_ **

**__But what does it matter, for all men must die,__ **

**_and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!_ **

**_I ha-a-a-ve,_ **

**_I have tasted the Dornishmen's wife!_ **

" _You sing quite well, good ser!" said a rather comely fair-haired maiden. She had a dimpled chin and cheeks. He then looked closely at her dress. The golden tree of House Rowan; Lord Mathis's fair daughter Rhea._

_"Thank you, my lady. But I'm no ser. Just a singer with a love for adventure!" he said, earning a giggle out of her._

_"Mayhaps, you could teach me how to sing as well as you do?" she said, gently caressing her fingers around his arm. It certainly felt nice, but I do not want to be gelded than shipped off to the Wall. Even if he was a bastard, he would not be headed there. And he knew for a fact that there were people he should not crowd around to: nobleman's daughters especially._

_"I'm afraid I'm just an apprentice singer, my lady. Mayhaps you should ask one of them?"_

_Rhea looked miffed at first, but then turned her eye to Dareon; smiling devilishly. Suddenly, he takes note of two knights coming closer to him. One of them has neatly kept dirty-blonde curls and the other ash-blonde hair. Both of them of equal height but only one he recognized by his black silk half-cape pinned with a ermine tower._

_"Coz! It's been quite too long!" Humfrey said._

_"Yeah. Far too long, coz. Who's your friend?" he asked inquisitively._

_"Ser Arnell. And you ...?"_

_No surname, strange. But he quickly took note of his silk half-cloak striped with yellow and green. His hazel eyes were beautiful that they almost bore close to pools of amber if not for the small flecks of grey. Upon closer inspection, he saw a jade-coloured half-apple._

_"Not hungry for a taste of glory like you surely are, Ser Arnell," he said with a small smirk on his face. Humfrey looked amused while Arnell quite befuddled._

_"Glory does not come easy for us. From what your cousin has told me, we are of the same cloth," Arnell said smoothly._

_Of course we are. Does Humfrey think all bastards know each other? Or want to?_

_"So, do you want to join the string of Flowers who have failed to bloom at the Wall?"_

_"I will. But it's as much my choice as it is my mother's as well."_

_"Oh, you the shame of your House?"_

_"Something like that. My mother is a Fossoway of New Barrel. My father was a meagre knight of humble beginnings"_

_"A hedge knight, that's what your father was, don't mince words." he said, seeing a feel of anger flare up in Arnell's pretty eyes. "My mother is - or rather was - a mad maid. And my father was quite the knight; serving under a king"_

_"I assume the wrong king at the time. So, why is it that the Wall seems to be right for me but not for you?"_

_"Easy. There's no glory for you at the Wall. Whatever you think you're gonna get there, you won't. No one sings of the tales of the men of the Citadel, who become grey rats serving under lords who couldn't give a wet shit about people like you and me. Me? I want to have glory of my own, and I want to be among the people who sings about it. There is a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be **most of us**. Which is also why I don't want to go to the Wall. I wouldn't go even if the king himself paid or ordered me to. I would like to see it one day, but see. Never stay."_

_Arnell seemed to take his words to heart from the look on his face. But the somber look quickly turned into a grin. "Bastards can rise high anywhere. Mayhaps I will rise, or rather bloom sweetly there. Until we meet again, Mallor Flowers"_

_That made him think deeply though. There were things he still wanted to do and things he wanted to see. He could have easily become a knight with his mother's kin, but that would feel akin to charity and pity; things he did not like or want. But for now, he would like his fill of drink and a more than willing wench if he could. He then eyed a pretty young lady with resplendent dark brown curls little older than him with a buxom chest. Men of his station should not be sticking their prick into noble ladies, but bastard ladies were a different matter entirely. Especially pretty bastard ladies like her._

* * *

_Oldtown is not the world, someone told him once. That very saying was all he needed to hear. What sane person would want to stay at home all their lives? Oh, I've heard how "home is where your heart is" but Oldtown rarely felt like home._

_As he now had enough coin to pay for passage, he headed to the first ship that went out; out to Gulltown. I've had enough of the Reach and their preaching on how they're the most beautiful and chivalrous region of the Seven Kingdoms. And from what I heard, the Vale is just as chivalrous as the Reach. Maybe I can find a knight who'd be willing to take me as a squire? I'd be a great knight one day._

_Gulltown is beautiful. The captain of the ship had made a  claim that he could tell one port from another just by the way they smelled. Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King’s Landing reeked like some unwashed whore. But Gulltown's "scent" was sharp and salty, and a little strange from all the strange and exotic spices being traded by Essosi merchants._

_"BOY!" someone called out to him. Confused, he looked at the person who had called out to him. He was a tall thin man with long brown hair reaching down to his shoulders and grey eyes that looked fierce and dangerous. Those eyes unnerved him. "Who are you? What do you think you're doing?"_

_"My name is Mallor Flowers, kind ser. I am simply seeking a skilled and humble knight to squire for and learn how to be a proper knight," he said nervously._

_"Well, you're in luck. I have need of a squire seeing as I recently knighted my last one. He showed promise, and I see you have promise as well. I am Ser Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home"_

* * *

_What a fool I had been._

_Ser Lyn had shown him a thing or two about fighting. He had me polish his shield, sword and armour as any squire would. He then showed me how to handle a sword, praising me all the while and even showed m the Valyrian steel blade of his house Lady Forlorn. The dark smoky look of its steel and the heart-shaped pommel made it look beautiful as it did deadly._

_Within a while, Ser Lyn told him to properly "service" him as a good squire should do. The moment he began to inch closer to him, he should have ran. Instead, he felt his lips and tongue pushing onto his own. Him trying to remove his britches and nearly pinning his body against his chamber doors. Acting quickly, he had punched him, and in turn, had been given a great punch back to his head._

_Upon waking up, he had found himself in a cell. The smell was somewhat familiar. Gulltown, I'm in Gulltown._

_"The boy whore awakes!" the gaoler said. Whore? I'm no more a whore than I was a squire. As he got up, he noticed that the satin cloak his cousin gave him was now tattered and messy._

_"You're quite lucky. Had Ser Lyn really had his way, he would have fed you to his lady, but his lord brother had you put here for your crime for trying to steal it" the gaoler mocked._

_I never stole anything really. He wants to scream that he's not a brigand or whore or anything they call him. But what was the point?_

_Days had gone by. Maybe weeks. Mayhaps a month. There was little food to be spared for brigands and thieves._

_"Oy, you all right?" a blonde boy in the cell across him asked. I could retort with anything remotely witty if I were still Mallor Flowers, the adventurous bastard of Oldtown, who had a smile on his face and a song in his heart. But now, he was Satin, the boy whore of Oldtown, the other prisoners took to calling him._

_"Leave him be, Emrick."_

_"He looks so sad and downcast"_

_"Shouldn't we all be? We're all "guests" here until some lord decides what to do with us"_

_It's only a matter of time until my head would be called for. Might as well try to breathe some life while I still had it. "So, what are you here for?"_

_"Well, me and my brother came from Fair Isle hoping to do some trade in Gulltown. Our mother was a cobbler so we tried to do that here. But we needed coin to make our own place, and we gotten the stupid idea to try to rob some men of it. We're not exactly good thieves. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Emrick and this is my brother Arron. What's your name?"_

_"... Satin"_

_"Satin. That's strange. It sounds like a whore's name really"_

_There was no point in clarifying it to anyone. Most of the other prisoners thought him to be a whore. I might as well give them what they want. And after all, mummeries were like a song as well; often repeated and heard until it was like music to the ears. "Because I am. My mother gave me that name from the brothel I was born in ..."_

* * *

_How long has it been now? Another day? Another week? Today seems like another day to live on or die._

_Suddenly, a man with thinning hair and stooped shoulders bearing a black cloak came in. He seemed to have a nice smile. "Names Conwy lads. I'm looking for boys and men alike to come and take the black. You'll never be without wanting a roof over your heads and food in your bellies. So, any one of you care to take the black, or keep rotting down here?"_

_Arnell had once mentioned that even bastards can rise high in the Wall. And it would be better than to rot and die in this dungeon. I couldn't be worse off? What else is there to do?_

_"I'll take the black" he said._

_The other prisoners began to laugh. "You plan on spreading your legs for the Lord Commander?", "The Black Whore of the Wall!", "The Prettiest Maiden the Wall has ever seen!"_

_"Shut it, all of you! All crimes are forgiven once you take the black. And don't matter who or what you were."_

_"We'll take the black too then!" Arron and Emrick said. A club-footed man then proclaimed he would take the black as well._

_"Alright then lads. We'll be off. But you mind telling me your name, lad?"_

_"Satin. I'm no one special"_

* * *

Things were so very different then. All his life he had wanted adventure. Someone should have told him that adventure stank. 

Yet, in this adventure, he had found good and trusted friends. 

There was Halder, who had been a stonemason's son. Oafish Owen, who had limp blond hair and happily told anyone that he had lost his wits after his mother had dropped him on the head. Ulmer of the Kingswoood, who had been part of the infamous Kingswood Brotherhood who had been teaching him the finer points of archery. Commander Bedwyck, whom many called "Giant" due to his rather small stature of being only five feet. "Sweet" Donnel Hill, a self-proclaimed Lannister bastard who often made japes with his loose tongue. Todder, who had been teaching him the many bawdy songs that he learned in the winesink where he worked. Jeren, often called Ser Loon by the Night's Watch brothers, whom was a bastard from a wandering septon. 

Then there was him. Jon Snow, the infamous bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was little older than him, and he had seen Jon Snow before, walking around. But it wasn't until that day where they fought side-by-side that they had become friends. He'd liked Jon Snow right away, mostly because he didn't laugh at him and call him 'arse-boy' or 'cocksucker' like some of the other boys had, nor did he ridiculed him for the fact that he looked more like a girl than some girls did, nor had he asked him humiliating and degrading questions about how he liked to be fucked. Jon Snow did none of those things, and he was grateful to him for that. During the battle, it felt as though all their past history had been erased. Jon Snow was no longer a high-born bastard, just as he was no longer a low-born whore that many of the brothers thought him to be. They were Jon and Satin, brothers, bound by the black of their cloaks to watch out for each other and the rest of the Watch.

For the first time in his life, he felt like an equal, rather than someone less. Then Jon Snow became Lord Commander, which he was pleased about, and had congratulated Jon whole-heartedly when he learned of the position, though he felt as though a massive divide had appeared between him and the only person he counted as a friend. It was not as though he was despised- he had been, and he had won most of his brothers over, but that didn't stop the whispers, the comments behind his back, the japes at his expense. At times when he left the kitchen, he would pass a man who snorted in his direction and said, none to quietly, “There goes Lord Snow's personal whore.” It was better to ignore it.

He had been delighted when he was informed he was to be the Lord Commander's squire. It was an honour he hadn't even dreamt of. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Jon Snow would have wanted him as his steward, but he had been chosen nonetheless. For all he knew, I am just a whore from Oldtown. I once said that I had not been born to serve anyone, and it had shown. He wasn't particularly _good_ at it- he let the fire burn out, and was slow saddling Jon's horse sometimes, but he enjoyed working for someone he liked.

The Wall itself was quite a sight to behold; surely a wonder of the world. Three hundred feet wide and seven hundred feet high. Made up of nothing but ice, stone and the earth, and if any of the legends about the Night's Watch were true, spells woven in by the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. Depending on the weather and the time of the day, the Wall often looked blue or grey. It almost reminded him of Jon Snow's cool steely gaze. 

Under his tutelage, he'd become a more adequate warrior. To truly fight a good fight as if today would be the day he may die. And tomorrow would bring a new day. He felt almost fearless with a sword in hand now. It was during these times that he had felt like Mallor Flowers again instead of Satin of Oldtown. Yet, he found himself growing oddly comfortable with that as his name. Jon's Old Gods were certainly more kinder to him than the Seven had ever been to him. 

A part of him almost wants to tell him the truth, but that may cause more harm than good. There were still so many things he wanted to do and see, but right now he would have to serve, so that every man, woman and child would live to see another day.He knew that he would never serve anyone. No one except Jon Snow, whom had treated him like a person and equal. The one person in this world whom he could call and could call him ... a friend. There was no better feeling in the world than being called a friend.

_Look at me now, Arnell. I have risen high and bloomed at the Wall._


	67. Dualism (Cat/Ned, Brandon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off Rivers and Roads by SomeEnchantedEve and this prompt; Instead of Littlefinger fighting for Catleyn's hand, Brandon faces off against his own brother for try hand of a woman whom he does not even like or wants, and Cat is torn by her duty and her desires  
> (https://valar-morekinks.livejournal.com/5909.html?page=20)

She could barely believe it. It seemed almost romantic and like the stories that Lysa enjoyed. She could barely understand what had happened. 

For one moment, the two brothers seems to be having a genial conversation and then they snapped at each other like the wolves they were deep inside. She didn't know or hear what they had been talking about. Her father had boisterously announced that she and Brandon were to wed in three moons time; a happy occasion. She had known Ned almost all her life; not once did she ever expect that he would fight for her honour and hand. 

Her father Lord Hoster Tully did not take this in such stride; seeing the foolishness and folly in this. "I don't know what's gotten in those two. They're brothers! I have had my tiffs with your uncle but ..."

Lysa kept gushing on how romantic it was. "Two brothers fighting for you and your hand, Cat! How would you not like that?" How could anyone? She had learned from her lessons from Maester Kym and her father about the place and duties of women. Brandon and her had been betrothed for nearly five years, and she had known Ned nearly all her life. She would marry Brandon and be his lady of Winterfell and do her duty by him. Ned would be there, but he would not be there with her. 

Both of them showed up at the lower bailey of Riverrun. Brandon and Ned both fully armoured; looking like the knights she dreamed of in her girlhood. But neither of them asked for her favour, nor did she felt like giving one to either. She would be expected to give it to Brandon yet she also wanted to give it to Ned. But ladies do not willingly give their favors to any knight less it makes them look wild and wanton.

"C'mon, Neddy? Do you really want to do this?" Brandon called out to his brother; smiling as if it meant nothing to him. Rather than say anything, Ned simply stared at him with his cool steely daze. His eyes as hard as stone, whereas Brandon's shined with such easiness and mischievousness.

"How 'bout I make this easier for both us?" Brandon said, stripping himself of much of his armour. Ned still looked at him coldly, but had in turn removed the equivalent amount of armour. Both of them simply down to simple boiled leather armour; allowing them to move freely. 

"Y'know what? I'll even let you get the first strike in." Brandon said, sounding almost giddy about it. He quickly took back his words as Ned swung at his shoulder, cutting him. Brandon looked almost awestruck. Whether it was because Ned had actually got in a strike or the fact that it was his own brother who had done it, she could not tell. Brandon's smiling face quickly turned into a malicious scowl. 

"Alright then ..." Brandon grimaced and moved as quick as a wolf. But Ned moved just as quick. Both of their blades kept clashing steadily; Brandon kept swinging furiously. Acting out of pride. Ned's movements were steady and fluid, blocking and parrying every strike while trying to get one in as well. 

Ned then struck at Brandon's sword arm; causing him to wince in pain. Brandon then tried to swing his sword arm at him but the movement was clumsy to say the least. He then furiously punched Ned in the face; knocking him back.  

Brandon swung more quickly, more powerfully and more furiously. Ned briefly held a small grimace then gave another hard stare filled with determination. His training with Ser Desmond had paid off. 

That immediately led to different thoughts. I had been blind, stupid and foolish. All those times we had raced and then kissed after. Those sweet touches. How much she had wanted him to take her after the feast with Lords Bracken and Blackwood. How she nearly allowed Ned to take her maidenhead upon his return from Harrenhal. 

 _I love him._ She was supposed to give everything of her to Brandon yet his brother had all but stolen her heart. _Just how stupid have I been?_  She then remembered how after Brandon's visit how she pressed him with so many questions on what Brandon would like and gushed on just how gallant Brandon seemed. Ned had shortly after made his words brusque and all but avoided her. _Did you love me all this time, Ned? Did you resent me, hate me for being so foolish?_

Suddenly, her mind had been brought back to reality. Watching them furiously clash against each other. How could anyone enjoy such a spectacle? I could be the reason for a division between family. Two brothers who were as different as night and day, but brothers all the same. 

"STOP IT! STOP IT BOTH OF YOU! STOP, STOP, STOP IT!!!"

Ned stopped moving and came to a halt while Brandon did not appear to heed or hear her. Not even stopping his blade as it came down in an angrily misguided backhanded slash down Ned's chest; throwing him at the edge of the Tumblestone. A small pool of blood beginning to surround him; becoming larger by the second. Brandon dropped his blade and began to shake Ned furiously; all but screaming at him.

"Ned? Ned? C'mon, Neddy, wake up! Wake up!"

She then called for help, and all but ran to Ned. He looked deathly pale by the second. _No. Nonononono._  

"Ned? Ned? Ned, please wake up! Please, wake up Ned!" she screeched; her tears being added to the Tumblestone. As Brandon reached a hand, she smacked it away from him. "Get away from him, you brute!"

_Please, wake up Ned. Ned, please be alright._

* * *

Of all the selfish and foolhardy things that he had done, this may have been the worst. But then again, he should have expected it. 

He didn't think much of his betrothed. He barely even thought of her after the first visit. The only thing that had stood out about her was her bright red hair. Everything else about her just ... bored him.

The only thing he wanted to do was have his fill of drinking, fighting and women. Let Ned have the bitch for all he cared.

If he could, he would have let Ned take it all. As much as he's been groomed for it, Ned will likely be a better lord than I ever will. Even with pretty southrons, Ned still had the heart of a northman. 

All this foolishness caused by a couple of bawdy jests and suggestions. I all but let Ned have his way with the fairest cunt of all of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms. He could have had her but he chose not to. From what he had seen, they seemed to have a good time with one another. Ned had been smiling and Lady Dayne seemed to be close by. Beside that, it'd be far too risky to have bedded her within the vicinity of his betrothed, and with Ned close by no less. He's grown up with them, what would stop him from telling Lord Hoster of his actions?

His stupidity and foolishness on how tight southron cunts are and questioning if Lady Catelyn had a pretty thatch of hair above her cunt that matched that bright hair of hers. ... Among other things he kept saying to Ned. 

The maester then came out of his chambers. He looked quite grim. 

Gods, please, no. "M-My brother ...?"

"Will live, thank the gods. The cut was rather deep, my lord. I had to give him milk of the poppy to ease much of his pain. If you would like to see him my lord ..."

Thank the gods. No man is as cursed as a kinslayer. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself, let alone the gods. "Yes. May I please?"

"Of course, my lord"

He then came into the chambers and already there was his betrothed, furiously clutching Ned's hand and clearly not wanting to let go of it. Ned looked deathly pale. More pale than that time he put flour all over himself and try to make little Ben believe that he was the ghost of an ancient Stark king. 

"uh, um, H-How, how is he?" he said, fumbling his words like a babe learning to speak. 

"Fine. I've been by his side, praying for his health."

"Good. That's, um, that's good."

"What did you do?"

That took him off guard. "Beg pardon, my lady?"

"What did you say and do to garner such foolishness? To fight and nearly kill your own blood?"

Alright, Bran. Just use your good ol' Northern charm. It worked on the girls in the North, and once before on her. It can surely save your skin this time around. "I had ... sort of ... said some rather unsavory things ... "

"About me?"

His face then felt flush with red. "M-More or less, so to speak."

"I ask that you leave, Lord Brandon"

She didn't sound like a giddy girl this time. No, she sounded as cold as the strong winds beyond the Wall. "Ned's my brother. I ..."

"Eddard Stark has also been a ward and honoured guest of House Tully. I will not ask again, Lord Brandon. I bid you to leave"

That'd be for the best. She doesn't want to see me, I doubt that Ned would either. 

* * *

In spite of his protests, she insisted to her father that she visit Ned until he recovers. Foolhardy it may have been, yet Ned still defended her honour, in spite of not being asked.

Lysa had visited only briefly and then muttered how lucky I had been. Yes, Lysa. Brandon nearly killed his own brother, I should be radiating with happiness. 

Edmure came to visit as well, looking confused as to why Ned was in bed. He often helped Edmure with his archery and swordplay at times. And he surely took better to Ned's instruction better than anyone else's. 

Just as she entered Ned's chambers, her Uncle Brynden was right in front, blocking the entrance. 

"It's a dangerous game you're playing, Little Cat"

Game? What was he talking about? Ned's in no state to play games, nor has he since his sixth-and-tenth nameday had passed. 

"I don't know what you're talking about Uncle."

"Don't be coy, little Cat. You love the boy. More than you ever would your betrothed"

 _Did Uncle Brynden learn to read my mind?_ "Y-You're speaking nonsense, uncle. Ned has been a ward of House Tully for years. I-It's my du-duty as a lady of R-Riverrun t -"

"I've known you long enough to know when you're lying to me, Catelyn. You and Ned have always been close. Do you remember what you did when we went to Seagard? After what Ned had done?"

She remembered it well. Lord Mallister had hosted a small tourney and her father all but goaded Ned to partake in the melee. Ned had smiled brightly upon winning; having faced the likes of both Ser Jeffory Mallister and Ser Damon Vypren. Jeffory's sister Johanna had personally congratulated and rewarded Ned for beating her brother into the ground with a kiss on the cheek. Just before they left, she gave Johanna a large rousing speech how such proclivities were unbecoming of a lady of her station.

"Y-You heard that?" Catelyn said sheepishly, a blush of red marring her cheeks. 

"All of Seagard had heard it," Brynden said with a faint smile on his face. 

Protest it, You don't love Ned. You just hold him in ... high affection and esteem. But that would be a lie. A very poor lie. 

"I ... I ... I shouldn't ..."

"I know, little Cat. The heart ... such a strong part of the body yet weak at times to the wills of love. Men and women are given women and men that we are told to love, and in time, in some cases, love is forged. Others, they just ... acknowledge one another. That ... was one of the reasons why I didn't marry the lass your father told me to."

That was when she realized what Uncle Brynden was talking about. "Y-You loved someone dearly, Uncle Brynden?"

"Yes, but I had the grace and the ... freedom to tell your father that I did not want to do so. We do not choose who we love, little Cat."

No, no we don't. How could she give her heart to someone who had already taken it?

* * *

Ned had begun to rouse a little bit. His skin no longer pale and sallow. 

"Nnggh, mrmph, Ca-Cat?"

She then lunged at him; hugging him tightly until Ned had yelped out in pain. "Ned, are you alright?"

"It's fine, my lady. I shouldn't have ... underestimated Brandon. He always was the ... larger of the family. I'm starting to believe that he might have giant's blood, or he's secretly an Umber"

Catelyn found herself giggling at his joke. Northern humor. She did not fully understand but found herself laughing nonetheless. 

"Ned. ... I need to know, ju-just ... what were you thinking? Brandon is ..." she was saying but the words soon stopped. What was she to say? That she loved Brandon with all her heart? No, if anything, she barely knows him. Her betrothed? But Ned would easily counter that he is his brother. What was Brandon to her? 

The more she thought about it, the more she realized just what Brandon meant to her. Nothing. Nothing truly. Just a contract of marriage between their two families. She didn't love Brandon, she didn't know Brandon and she didn't truly hold him dear to her heart. Thinking of him now just made her feel empty, and a little guilty since Ned was in front of her. That was more apparent as Ned reached a hand to hold hers. 

"Brandon ... he said some rather ... dishonourable things about your family. I ... I could not simply allow him to ... insult ..." He was lying, or at the very least try to to spare her any pain as to what Brandon may have said or done. She then pressed her fingers to his lips to quiet him. 

"It's alright Ned. It's alright" she said, coaxing him, wanting to make sure he doesn't do anything foolhardy; even if it wasn't truly in his nature. She then leaned her body closer to his, reaching his lips and kissing him. She feels him resist at first but slowly give in. _Nothing, Brandon is nothing to me. And Ned is everything to me._

Inching closer to his body, she faintly feels his hands gently place themselves on her waist. Their kissing becoming deeper, their tongues swirling around each other almost like a dance. His calloused hands gently placing themselves around her hips. 

Something inside her seems to be set ablaze. I always thought that Ned was becoming more and more cold like the lands he came from. I was wrong, he was hiding all the warmth he had. The love he has for me. 

Slowly but surely, she begins to remove her smallclothes and steadies herself on Ned's broad chest. The kisses between them are deeper and frenzied than before. She feels a part of him still resisting somewhat, as to say that he is dishonouring her. And a part of her agrees with that notion, but the rest of her wants the rest of him. Now the both of them are as naked as their namedays. She finds herself moaning with absolute pleasure as he begins to cup and mouth her breasts; his lips licking and teasing her nipples. Ned's cock was now as hard as stone, nearly poking her sex. 

Daintily steadying herself, she then sheathes Ned's cock deep within her. The septas often say that a woman shouldn't give her maidenhead to anyone that is not her husband or betrothed. It is sinful. _How is it sinful to give it to the person you love?_ The septa even said that anyone other than your lord husband was to take your maidenhead, than it means that the woman is ruined. That the woman has brought shame and dishonour to her family and her house. _Nothing that feels so good could possibly ruin you._  

She then begins to roll her hips in a somewhat unsteady movement, but Ned helps her steady as he grabs her by the hips in order to do so. She tries to stifle the moans of pleasure as they come in, but it made her sound as if she were in pain, which caused Ned to turn to her with alarm in his eyes. Before he could say anything, she puts her fingers over his lips again. "It's alright, Ned. It's alright."

Feeling and coming undone, she then leaned and lowered closer to Ned so that she may stifle her own cries of pleasure into the crook of his neck. She then feels a hot burst within, a small amount dripping out of her sex. Catelyn then eases herself into him, placing her head over his chest, listening to the rapid sounds of his heartbeat. Such a lovely sound. Ned then places an uncertain hand on her shoulder, slowly stroking her hair in a surprisingly gentle way. 

For the first time in her life, Catelyn Tully had disregarded duty. And it felt good, and worth anything she could endure. _There's nothing I can't endure without Ned. My love. My Ned._


	68. Bests (Gendry & Tyrion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His sweet nephew could bring greatness to the Lannister and Baratheon names: as he has the best of his houses.

His sweet nephew could bring greatness to the Lannister and Baratheon names: as he has the best of his houses.

The boy was clearly a Baratheon with his looks; hair as dark as a raven's wing and blue eyes that reflected the resplendent blue of both the Sunset and Narrow Seas alike. But there are certain Lannister traits in him as well. He had small flecks of the fabled Lannister emerald green eyes within those blue orbs of his. He has Cersei's cheekbones as much as Myrcella does and his lord father's perfectly-etched nose.

Much like King Robert and every past Baratheon before, Gendry has a fierce love of fighting. Having nearly mastered all range of heavy weaponry from lances, mace, pikes to being able to wield his father's massively ugly warhammer; the very same used to slay Rhaegar Targaryen and place himself on the Iron Throne. And like any good warrior, he loved to practice and lived for it. More often training with Ser Barristan the Bold or on occasion his uncle Jaime. Jaime had gotten enough his high horse to admit that his nephew is a natural-born warrior, although he knows that he set aside a great amount of pride to admit it. 

But more often than not, he often practiced with his younger sibling Tommen. Both of them are like Jaime with a sword, that its remarkably uncanny. Both of them so tall for their ages, yet he moves quite agilely for a boy of his size. I had expected him to be a bit of a blithering buffoon when it would come to swordplay. No, much like Jaime, their movements are as fast as a lightning strike. Those two could spar against one another from dusk til dawn if they could.

Yet, as they were nearly equals in terms of swordplay, their differences were keenly noted. Gendry was tall, broad and dark-haired whereas Tommen was quite tall but still relatively slim for a boy of twelve and soft blonde curls adorning the crown of his head much like a real crown would. Tommen also has an innate love of animals that earned him the moniker Tommen the Tamer. Gendry loved the animals as well but he didn't put in the extra love and care that Tom did.

He did often wonder how the Baratheon brothers would do if they had a sister. For Gendry may be the answer to that. There was no doubt that Gendry and Myrcella loved each other deeply; Gendry acting as her knight and protective older brother and she clearly the dainty maid that all the songs and stories loved. Yet, seeing them together almost brings a pang to his little black heart. For if Gendry is a better version of his father, then Myrcella is clearly a better version of their mother. All of Cersei's beauty and none of her nature. But she does have a certain fierceness that seemed to echo the Baratheon name. It wasn't breathtakingly obvious but should someone get on her nerves; it would be like silk hiding steel.

While he won't admit it, he knows for a fact that Gendry doesn't like his uncle Renly. Oh, both of them looked similar and could act similarly enough but they were not the same. He could see that Renly is as shiny as a pretty penny and nothing more. Gendry is as courteous and well-mannered as him but was genuinely polite and friendly to anyone, even those who were trying to curry favour with him. Gendry dressed prettily as he did but more in a ... pragmatic sense whereas his beloved uncle could be mistaken for a peacock. Renly loves and enjoys attention but Gendry keeps blushing like a green boy whenever he accomplishes something remotely simple.

It was quite wonderful to see Renly turn as furiously red as he did when Gendry suggested that he be replaced as Master of Laws with someone else. He nearly shit his britches when Robert asked his heir who would replace Renly. "Anyone really, even the cook would be better than him". Robert laughed and would have seriously named the cook his new Master of Laws had it not been for a timely suggestion of Lord Mathis Rowan. He liked the man; seldom and quite prudent.

But that also made him realize that he was not truly Robert or Renly. At times he reminded him of Stannis. And his father. From the way he reads all those books, he could be a great war tactician and strategist. Something that both of them are known and noted for. But it does make me wonder if Robert was like that during his prime. But he is a man of war, and that's all men of war know. But the one thing that irks him about his nephew in reminding him of Stannis Baratheon, is that he may be one of the very few people who likes him. How could anyone like that man? He has all the charm and personality of a lobster!

For what it was worth, the first and only visit he made to Dragonstone, the boy kept lamenting just how much he missed it. Though, he did say that he missed the passing sea breeze and ... apparently the smell of volcanic ash. "It's better than the smell of King's Landing, uncle" Well, I can't argue with that. But so much like Stannis and so unlike Robert, Gendry has a sense of responsibility and duty. Yet, also able to inspire such loyalty in others. His cousin Tyrek is more than often by his side after doing his squire duties to Robert. It was also in that that the Strongboar all but pledged his life in service to Gendry rather than Robert, shortly after Ser Boros Blout's untimely death.

Actually, there were few people that Gendry had taken to. He does seem quite selective when it came to companions. In spite being closer to Tommen's age, Jon Arryn's twin falcons often flew around him. Addam Marbrand's second youngest son was one of his primary sparring partners and good friends. The recently knighted Justin Massey often traded jests with him, bringing a smile to his nephew's face.

And that innate stubbornness. That might kill the boy should war come to Westeros again. But at least he doesn't shy away from responsibility like his father. He's been to more small council meetings than Robert has! As cheerful as he could be, Gendry had been a fairly serious lad as well. He had a good head on his shoulders that would make him one of the greatest kings that ever came. That makes me so glad that Gendry is the heir and not his bratty younger brother Joffrey. I never thought a Lannister could be hideous.

It was most apparent that apart from Gendry, the rest of the children were all Lannister. Tommen and Myrcella are the best of Jaime and Cersei. Joffrey however, maybe the worst of them put together. So temperamental and "strong-willed" as Cersei called him. He's as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside; especially with the greyscale he had contracted as a babe. And I thought I was an ugly lion. Combined with his pouty lips and his somewhat girlish looks, he could be mistaken for one of the fabled squishers of Crackclaw Point.

With his father's strength and looks, Renly's charm, Stannis' innate stubbornness, his own father's cunning, Jaime's innate skill, and apparently half of my wits, he's already on his way to be a real king. ... And mayhaps he might make me his hand. Mayhaps.


	69. Surrendering Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five husbands Ashara Dayne could have had and the one she wanted but couldn't have

**Jaime Lannister**

She had to admit that he was handsome with his golden curls and his flashing cat-green eyes. Still a fierce and proud warrior for his age, but that's all he is. No one could get him away from his sword. The one person who actually does rule the Westerlands his his brother Tyrion. whom many have called the Imp. 

Tywin should have realized much sooner that his son is not what he wants. But he would not want to hear anything coming out of her "deceitful dornish tongue". Jaime was born and bred a warrior meant for battle. He'd be better off in a sellsword company. He would do better in anyone's company except her own. 

It's often the sword or his sister that has his attention. And half the time, she thinks that they maybe bedding one another. But that's not possible. 

They're not Targaryens. ... Or are they?

 

**Robert Baratheon**

Handsome he is. Coal dark hair, resplendent blue eyes, muscled like a maiden's dream. And he knows it. Handsome men who know that they're handsome may be the worst of all men. Worst than the men who believe themselves witty when they lack it. 

If she could, she would make a contest that they are actually brother and sister, so that they faith may absolve their marriage. But the only thing disputing that would be their different colour eyes. She can't stand him. Robert Baratheon, the Whoremonger Lord, his people call him. A cask of ale in one hand and a "willing woman" in the arm. She had actually one upped once but only once.

He had been a simple stable boy with a somewhat gangly look and a stutter. He was comely enough, which was enough for her to take him into her bed. Yet, Robert roared like a storm for her betrayal. How is it that he can whore all day and long, then expect to come back to a willing pair of legs back home, yet she cannot do the same?

Yet, this is not Dorne. Gods, I miss Dorne. 

 

**Oberyn Martell**

Everyone had kept saying that they should be married. "You get along so well" "Why isn't you haven't married the boy?"

Now, they have their answer. She couldn't hate Oberyn. She knew just whom he was and he knew her. But it did irritate her from time to time that he bedded anything with a pair of legs. But she could do that as well and it would not irk him. But what does irk her is his paramour, Ellaria Sand of Hellholt. Ellaria Sand who had borne Oberyn over three daughters and one son. 

No children came from them. At first, she did not mind or care. I am not the mothering type. But the years gone by. No daughter or son with her dazzling eyes. Only Oberyn got those. And his paramour seemed to act more like a wife; somehow knowing more about her husband than her. 

She shouldn't be jealous. Jealousy looks terrible and unbecoming of a lady of her station. Yet, she cannot help but feel so. 

 

**Brandon Stark**

Handsome he is. Shaggy dark brown hair, resplendent mischievous steely grey eyes, muscled like a maiden's dream. And he knows it. Handsome men who know that they're handsome may be the worst of all men. Worst than the men who believe themselves witty when they lack it. 

He's certainly passionate, yet like a fire, passion can only burn so bright. The only reason they had married was because of the scandal of it all. And the insult he gave to the Tullys; how he had fucked her at the Tourney of Harrenhal; on Tully land and under the nose of Lord Hoster. 

Now, it is his younger brother Eddard who is lord instead of Brandon. Initially, Brandon waved it off like it was nothing. But it then hit him all too fast. He received the freedom he longed for yet lost what mattered most: status. With status comes power, which is something he lacks. He hates it because no one focuses their attention to him. His name now said in scorn. His squire Ethan Glover, now in service to Lord Eddard. Catelyn Tully, the lady he was meant to marry, now married to Lord Eddard, and actually all the more happier from it reportedly. Eddard, Ned as he preferred to be called, who never asked for such prestige and got it anyways. 

The way he kept looking at her was no longer filled with mirth. His eyes are rheumy due to drink and angry. As if all of this were her fault. Yes, Brandon, it is your fault. You and your stupid wolf blood. 

But I'm no better. I chose to be bedded by you. And I'm stuck with you as you are with me. 

 

**Howland Reed**

Her new home still surprised her after all these years. There are days when she still can't believe that she is a Northwoman. Mayhaps not a true woman of the north, but one all the same. The Neck still a wonder to behold after all these years. 

At times, she still remembered how they met. She had mistook him for a squire to the Starks because of his small stature. He then talked of his home while she then talked of her own. It was there she realized that they had talked from dusk til dawn. She had never felt anything like it. 

In haste and glee, they had decided to marry underneath the nasty-looking heart-tree of Harrenhal, with Eddard Stark as their witness. 

The name is no longer bitter in her tongue. She had raged at him when he had brought back Dawn, but she knew that they didn't have much choice. Arthur would always do his duty and would never back down from a fight. 

The children were growing up so fast. Meera, their heir, had been training with one of Howland's distant relatives in how to fight with their spears and nets. Jojen, her little solemn boy, spent much time learning about the Old Gods. If there were such a thing as a septon for the Old Gods, Jojen would likely join in an instant. 

When they had heard word of Ned Stark's death, it broke Howland's heart. For the first time in her life, she had seen him cry. Such a sad sight. 

Though she has never prayed to the Old Gods before, she prays and hopes that the gods keep Ned's children safe, and her own.

 

**_Ned Stark_ **

Tears. Endless tears dripping down her face. 

Was it supposed to be some sort of comfort? She found herself crying as her mother and brother presented her with that letter. It was in Ned's writing; apologizing how he can no longer marry her and needed to honour the original arrangement between House Stark and House Tully.

Every fat tear kept hitting the letter, messing the ink, few words becoming readable. 

_Dearest Ashara ... eepest apolo ... honour ... se Tully ... P ...se for ... me ... Al ...s yo... Ned_

She should have thrown the letter away, should have burned it, yet something kept drawing her to it. Some wounded part of her wanted to re-live the pain and she was constantly reading it, etching the words on her heart.

Her rage had been quelled by the hope that he would come for her but she knew now that she would never be his Lady of Winterfell, never rule beside him, never feel his strong arms envelop her or feel him between her thighs or hear his words of love. Those would be saved for the Tully girl now, the one who had dreamed of _dashing charming Brandon Stark_ but had gotten his little brother instead. A true uppity southron who could never understand that underneath his somberness was the kindest and possibly the most beautiful man Ashara had ever known and met, a man who she would pick above all others, whom she loved and taken for her own even as the rest of the men at court would be crawling over each other for her hand.

She would have lost herself in her grief had it not been for the babe in her belly. Half of the babe was Ned after all, she would be bringing into the world his first-born, a feat that not even Catelyn Tully could boast of. A part of her was anxious to see the child so she could see Ned again, perhaps look into his grey eyes once again or see a hint of his beautiful smile in the curve of their babe's lips.

But after three moons, all went dark around her and she awoke to a searing pain pulsating through her lower body, the sight of the maester scurrying around the room, and the sound of screams (her own, she realized, and she screamed louder). There was the smell of iron and a wetness all around her thighs, as though she were drowning in blood. Suddenly the maester was standing over her, pleading that she remain awake but her eyes closed once again and the pain was gone.

It was all gone. She briefly saw Ned in their babe. Their babe. Their babe who didn't even breathe her first breath or scream her piercing wails. She holds their babe for what feels like forever until the maester insists that they bury it. _It_. My babe, not ... _it_.

Two moons later, she sees men coming to the gates of Starfall. She immediately recognized one of them: _**Ned**_. He is larger than before, and more bearded, looking quite fierce than before. Before she can say or do anything, he is talking with her elder brother Arron. She knows that she shouldn't eavesdrop, her mother often complaining that its not ladylike. She can only hear a couple of words. Something about where Arthur had been, a babe and pact between Houses Dayne and Stark.

She all but bursts into the room. "Ned" she breathed out. "Ashara" he breathed out in turn. It is then she understands. She understands the moment she sees Dawn across the desk; marred with dried blood. _First my babe, then my brother_. Arron simply leaves and breathes out that he will grant them a moment.

"I'm ... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all that has happened" She walked to him and touched his cheek gently, as she had so long ago at Harrenhal. "When last I saw you, nothing in the world that could sadden me. Now... When I heard that you married Catelyn Tully, my heart ... shattered. Now you return my brother's sword and tell me ... that you are sorry."

"Did you kill him?" she questioned quietly. After a long silence, he eventually said yes. Most men would be gleeful in slaying the Sword of the Morning, but Ned is not most men. She could hear the pain in his voice. Did he have a right to pain? Yes, she knew he did, he too had lost much. His father, his wretched foolish elder brother, now his sister. "It was never supposed to be like this. He had been guarding my sister. I would never ... have let harm come to her. They raised up their swords and we ... we fought back."

She suddenly felt more despair descending upon her heart. She began to slump and weep, and she began to feel Ned's warm arms holding her. "I'm sorry Ashara. I'm so sorry. I loved you. I still love you. I would have married you," he murmured into her hair as he held her.

She pulled back and stared at him with her beautiful violet eyes. "Would you leave her for me?" She wants him to say yes. Yes, I'll leave that Tully girl, I never wanted her. I know you don't want her Ned, how could you want her?

"I can't." he whispers huskily. She suddenly crashes her lips onto his own. "Ashara ..."

"You were mine first" she groans into his mouth.

"Ash ..."

"Mine!"

She began to feel every inch of his body as she begins to disrobe him. His back has scars now, a thin dribbling line at the small of his back with a thicker, more gnarled scar cutting across his shoulder; she traces a shining scar curved over his hip, feeling the warmth of his skin. He makes a noise in his throat as her tongue slides across his skin, gathering the taste of salt, tracing the bumps of his spine. As she lies atop him, kissing the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, she slips her hand beneath his body, over the softness of his stomach to where his cock grows hard.

He tries to mutter in protest but that doesn't matter. She takes him in and begins to mutter his name like before. Bur this is different from last time. Last time, they made love which was sweet and tender. This was desperate, enchanting, wanting to remember him one last time. The last time he would be hers and the last time she would be his. 

It would and could never be enough, but to have at least one more moment with her Ned ...


	70. Forsaken (Margaery/Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rose of Highgarden decides to take matters into her own hands

_No more._

_I've had enough of crowns and kings. What was the point of it all?_

Her first husband preferred the company of her brother. Her second husband preferred to mutilate little animals. Her last husband was little more than a child who loved animals. All of them taken away. Renly dying at the hands of his brother dabbling in sorcery. Joffrey died at their wedding by her grandmother's protective leathery hands. Tommen died at the hands of his own mother in her twisted way of "protecting" him. 

And now, from what her Father is telling her, she is to be married to the new King Aegon VI. Handsome as he is, it's not worth it. She once thought of herself as being able to be a Queen; much like Good Queen Alysanne. But there is no point of it. _I had nearly died because Cersei had tried to kill me in her madness and nearly succeeded. And now, Father wants to send me off like I am a broodmare._

_What was the point of it? How many much more am I to endure just to lay a crown upon my head?_

She had entered the service of the Queen at her father's behest to see just how Aegon was overall. A good man, a wonderful king but that dream had died. It made her think of Sansa in a way. Not a day had gone by that she regretted leaving her once her family had told her to all but abandon her as she had married the Imp. It would be nice to see her again. 

As Father had began to make preparations for her to wed King Aegon VI, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. _I'd marry anyone else rather than become Queen._ She had come to like Queen Daenerys, and Prince Jon seemed to be an amiable man. And it is because of Prince Jon that she was able to make her choice. 

Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill was not like any other knight she had met. Stern, dutiful and steadfast, Ser Gendry is quite an impressive knight with his own right: a natural with axes, pikes, warhammers and surprisingly quick with a sword in spite of his size. She had often met and smiled at him whenever they passed by, and he would awkwardly return it. The conversations between them were often sparse ranging from simple polite conversations to their duties to those they served. Her own service to Queen Daenerys and his to Prince Jon's.

With a great amount of courage and a small amount of drink, she had asked Daenerys that she be married to Ser Gendry. He is very handsome with his coal-dark hair and piercing blue eyes. And it would help Loras remove any notions that he is Renly reborn. Daenerys and Jon had willingly gave her their blessing while Gendry himself seemed to be reluctant to say the least. It had taken some prodding on Jon's part to all but cow Gendry into marrying her. _I'll finally wed a Baratheon as you wanted me too Father._

Their marriage was in the godswood and small, not as she imagined when she was a girl but quite quaint. The Old Gods seemed to be more content and peaceful than the Seven. As a gift to them, Jon and Daenerys named them and any children they have Lord of Whitegrove and to be granted the name of Belgrave; a house long gone and dead in the Reach. The sigil of their new house was quite fearsome as well: a rampant white bull on a chequy field of green-and-gold. Normally, a bedding would be called but Gendry said that their would be no need for one. 

Once the news was dispensed that she was now a married woman, her father all but roared that he had no daughter. As strong as she stared him down, telling him that she's no one's pawn, it had still hurt that her father thought less of her because she was not a queen. Her mother offered her sympathies, while WIllas and Garlan told her husband to treat her with the utmost respect as a lady of her station should be. Loras would normally be chastising him as well, but he is a member of the Kingsguard bound by his duty and too broken to do anything even if he wanted to. The sun had set on her old life, and would begin soon.

* * *

Their new home felt strange. It all felt strange; being cut off her family, no longer being able to call herself a Tyrell. 

But now is not the time to lament my decision for I have made it. And right now, she felt grateful to Daenerys and Jon, and even Aegon for granting them such a wondrous castle. Whitegrove is so beautiful with walls and towers made of white stone. Its floors and pillars were crafted from white marble veined with gold. The rafters were carved from the trunks of weirwoods. A true sign from the power that the Peake's had. 

The servants that had been assigned to them were quite amiable and friendly. Several men who had been in Stannis' service, Timon the Scrapesword and Dermot of the Rainwood, and his own companion from his brigand days, Anguy the Archer from the Dornish marches. And surprisingly enough, some men who had been accused of being her lovers had sworn themselves into their service such as Ser Tallad the Tall, Ser Bayard Norcross, and Ser Humfrey Clifton. Even several maids who were once in Cersei's service such as her attendant Jocelyn Swyft, Serena Stackspear, and Cyrelle Serrett. Her lovely cousins had been removed from her retinue as she was no longer a Tyrell.

As she looked to Gendry, her husband, she noticed just how out of place he looked and must have felt. He had been raised among the smallfolk of King's Landing, learned smithing as his trade. He had not asked for this life nor had he expected it. He had lead his band of brigands, the Brotherhood without Banners, and had taken the Crossing with less than fifty men; slaughtering the weasels of the riverlands. He was a leader amongst men, but not a lord. But I can help him with that.

When he came to their chambers, she felt her throat tighten and her heart pang. She had seen and felt faint glimpses underneath his clothes, yet here is her husband in only his small clothes. The candlelight seemingly bouncing off of his hard muscles. Not a single soft spot. 

"G'night ... Margaery" he said in a rumbling low voice. he then goes to the left side of their featherbed and simply falls asleep. As much as she can respect that he would not force her to bed him, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed. Three husbands and still a maiden still. And here is her husband by her side, muscled like a maiden's dream, and not bedding her. She then daintily placed her hand on her shoulder, and gently kissed him by the juncture of his neck. "Good night, my lord husband"

* * *

"So, ya married 'er, and you haven't fucked 'er?" Anguy said, cocking his head. 

"Whaddya want me to do, Anguy? Tell her to go on and suck my cock when I want?"  

"That is what you lords do now, don't ya? And it's not like you have no experience with girls. You do remember Long Jeyne Heddle, don't cha?"

He recalled all too well. He hadn't taken Jeyne's maidenhead because he wanted to or desired her. He had cared for her greatly, and she had feared some raper taking it. _A favour it was, just a favour_ , he kept saying to himself. Yet, it continued all throughout whenever they got the chance. After the orphans and Willow were asleep, she would come to the forge, her skinny fingers wrapping around his cock. He hadn't been sure what it was. Love, lust, affection, he couldn't tell. All that he knew was that he would protect her no matter what. 

But Jeyne had not been his first truly. Lem had gotten him a woman to make a man out of him and Tom insisted on it to prove himself, whatever that meant. Though, they either didn't know Jeyne or wanted him to try bedding other woman as well. Her name was Hildy; she had a a pug nose and a shaggy mane of hair, and her nipples were as large as map markers. Though she wasn't a whore, she had been paid well enough to "do the deed". It felt uncomfortable to say the least but she had shown him just how to touch and please a woman. It was only once, and he had apologized heavily to Jeyne. And she had quickly forgiven him once he had shown her what HIldy had taught him. 

The last girl that he had bedded prior to his wife was Bess Bracken. Fair of hair, fleshy and buxom. He felt guilty by her, she had been raped by the Mountain during his pillage of the riverlands. While it had not been his fault, he felt it all the same. Yet, surprisingly enough, she had managed to assuage him of any guilt he had felt for something the Brotherhood could not have prevented. Eventually, they came to bed one another. He had felt a bit apprehensive about bedding her, but she quickly flashed a smile and assuaged him of any and all guilt. She made more noise than Hildy, that was certain. And she was sneaky as Jeyne, often sneaking to his small chambers so that they may bed one another. 

All that had to end. And from what he had heard, Bess and Jeyne were both pregnant with his child. Jon had told him that they would be very well compensated; Bess's child would be an heir apparent to House Bracken and Jeyne's family have been elevated to lordship and her child heir. 

None of it felt right. Jon had understood, and Dany as well. But Margaery Tyrell had apparently asked that he marry her. He didn't understand why she did. All that they said was that she was a fair maiden in need of his protection. After Daenerys herself, she may be the most beautiful maiden in Westeros. Margaery, with her thick, softly curling brown hair, large brown eyes, pale, smooth unblemished skin, and a slender, but womanly figure. Margaery, fair and lively, with a shy and sweet smile was now his wife. _His_ wife. She'd be more befitting as a wife to a king, not him. I should have married Jeyne when I had the chance, and done right by her properly. Or offered that to Bess. 

But now was not the time to lament on such things. Margaery is his wife now. Someone to be treated with the utmost care and respect. And never dishonour her. Any conversations between them were no longer as brisk as before but still felt awkward, at least to him. 

She was made for all this; the duties of a lady of her station. She often jested with Anguy and inquired about her own ladies. It made her a bit different than most noble ladies he had seen and known, and he didn't know many. She was always interested not only in the comings and goings of their new castle but also talked to any smallfolk whom suffered a grievance in theri lands. I'm truly not worthy of her. Why did she want me for her husband?

* * *

"My lord, I was wondering as to wh - "

"Gendry. I'm not your lord, I'm your husband. You can call me by my name, my lady"

"If that is the case, then I insist you call me Margaery"

"Of course, Margaery. Uh, just what is it you wish to ask?"

"I was simply wondering as to why you have not done your duty by me, Gendry?"

He could feel his blood turn warm. "M-M-My du-duty? I have done my duty by you, my la- Margaery."

"Yes, you have been a good and true husband who hasn't strayed from my bed. Yet, you haven't been in my bed. Are you as much a maiden as I supposedly am?" she said, staring at him intensely. Ferocity and curiosity melded into her flashing golden brown doe eyes. 

"I am not!" he retorts loudly, his pride having got in the way. "I-It's just that ... I'm not ... well, I mean I am but ... I ... Do you want me to bed you?" he said awkwardly.

She looked at him surprised. "You are my lord husband. It's to be expected. It's my duty by you to be bedded by you, and grant you many sons and daughters trueborn and healthy"

 _But I'm not trueborn, not truly_ , he nearly says. But his throat holds back the words. "Are you certain that it is what you want?"

She then leans her body close to his. Her dainty fingers faintly stroking the muscles on his arms. "Yes. I ... I have dreamed of you, you know. Desired you. Had you not desired me?"

"It's hard not to. If you want to be ... bedded ... by me, would you actually ..."

Margaery cut him off with a kiss. She tasted wonderful. Like a myriad of every sweet thing had come to life and bloomed on those sweet lips of hers. 

"You are most welcome to my, I mean, _our_ chambers, Lord Gendry," she said with a smile.

* * *

He does not know why he thrums with anxiety as he enters Margaery's ( _our_ ) chambers; gods know he no longer a green boy. But has not truly shared a woman's bed with such intimacy. The last thing he wants to do is make the bedding unpleasant for her. And they had barely touched one another since their wedding day, nearly two moons ago.

Gendry's breath catches as Margaery comes into view. She sits in the center of the large featherbed, her legs folded beneath her; her soft curls cascade over her shoulders, which are all but bare in the silk night dress she wears, the material so delicate Gendry can see every inch of her in the candlelight. Desire warms his blood as Margaery rises up on her knees, her eyes darkened with passion as he climbs onto the bed.

Her mouth tastes like honeyed wine, and her skin smells of roses.

The night they were wedded, he had not taken the time to truly look upon her; he feels drunk on her now, running calloused hands over the length of her. She inhales deeply through her nose as he touches her breasts, and, as he captures a nipple between his lips, he practically feels her heart speed up beneath his face. As Margaery breathes his name, her fingers sinking into his hair, Gendry wishes to show Margaery the pleasures which can be found together.

She cries out in surprise as he drags his tongue up the length of her cunt, her fingers biting painfully in his hair; Gendry sees she is trying to rise on her elbows, lower body moving as if she is not certain whether she is trying to move away or move closer, and he gently pushes her hips against the mattress, lifting his head to meet her gaze.

“Trust me,” he requests huskily, and Margaery's eyes widen before nodding, settling back against the pillows, her breathing hitched with arousal and nervousness.

It takes mere minutes to make her peak, two fingers crooked inside of her, his tongue gathering her wetness; when he suckles at her nub, Margaery shouts as her body tenses in pleasure before every muscle relaxes. She whimpers as he withdraws, peppering kisses up her body as she comes down, and, as he carefully eases himself inside of her, Gendry groans as she spasms around him. The faint feel of her maiden's blood trickling down his cock. 

Initially, he is a bit shocked that she had still been a maiden after all this time. But then he realizes that she had been a maiden all this time. Women always dream of losing their maidenhead to some gallant and brave lord. Something he could never truly be. Margaery then looks at him, those brown pools of hers bearing into his soul; understanding just what he is thinking in a way. She nods, urging him to carry on with it. 

Margaery catches his rhythm easily, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, and he realizes he won't last long. He slips an arm beneath her thigh, hitching her leg higher, and Margaery moans loudly as he sinks deeper into her, tossing her head back with the sensation.

“Genndrrry, Gendry,” she begins to chant, and it is hearing her voice – raw and desperate – saying his name which tips him over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of her.

They lay joined for several moments, both trying to catch their breaths, before he moved off of her; to his surprise, Margaery follows, settling into the crook of his arm, resting her head against his broad chest. She kisses the patch of skin in front of her before sighing, “I quite liked that.”

The bark of laughter catches them both by surprise, but it immediately sends Margaery into a peal of giggles. Gendry rises from the bed to throw open the windows, Margaery pulls back the bedclothes, motioning for him to join her. As he slips into unconsciousness with the taste of Margaery still on his tongue, Gendry thinks this is the first time she has truly felt like his wife.

In the morning he wakes to someone tracing the scars on his chest. Gendry opens his eyes to see Margaery sitting up beside him, unconcerned with her nudity, fingertips gliding across the puckered skin; if she is embarrassed at being caught, she doesn't show it. Instead she just smiles and greets, “Good morning, Lord Gendry.”

“Come here,” he orders in a sleep-roughened voice, pulling her down for a kiss.

It is the first – but, by no means, the last – morning that Gendry urges Margaery atop him, watching as she gracefully rises and falls upon his cock.

He is not good with words. Though their conversations come easier, especially in regards to the running of Whitegrove, Gendry  finds himself struggling with intimate discussions. Margaery often leads the conversations, and he truly appreciates it; he has always found out more by listening, and what he quickly learns about his wife is that Margaery is shrewdly intelligent, bitingly funny, and, beneath all her maidenly beauty, has a spine of Valyrian steel.

It is not long that she had begun to swell with his child; _their_ child. Her skin softer, her breasts larger and a bit more fiercer than before. Margaery had also wanted to be fucked raw, before she had begun to truly swell with their child. She was more wild and wanton in bed; almost like a beast in heat. They fucked for what would seem and feel the entire day. She would often be on her hands and knees, demanding to be fucked like bitch. Sometimes, she would place her mouth on his cock, her lips and tongue teasing until his seed bursts in her mouth. Other times, she would daintily place herself on his cock; sheathing herself down to the hilt and slowly moving around his cock.   
Always shouting like a madwoman, "YES, YES, GENDRY! IT'S SO GOOD!! FASTER, HARDER!! KEEP FUCKING ME!! OH, BY THE GODS! BY THE GODS, YES!!" By the end of it, they would be completely sated. Margaery would curl up by his shoulder while he would absentmindedly stroke her sweaty back. Always wondering how an oaf like him ended up with such a beauty like her,

By the end of the year, he hears screams of pain and anguish. He thinks to himself that he should not have done such a thing. The Gods have made it fit to take my wife from me. Maybe even our babe. But all those fears were set aside once he heard the shrill wails of a babe. Her babe. My babe. Our babe. He enters the room so uncertainly. As he takes in the sight of Margaery and their babe, he found himself unable to breathe. Margaery's hair is wild and untangled. In her arms, a pair of lively arms reaching up at the air. 

"Meet your son, my lord," Margaery said in a low rumble. Their son is a tiny thing with a pouty mouth and a mop of black hair. His eyes are a mix of his and Margaery's: resplendently blue yet with small flecks of amber in them as well. 

"What do you want to name him?" she asks. There were some names he had thought of, but they probably wouldn't suit their babe. The name suddenly came to him. "How 'bout ... Watkyn?" She then looks at him then at their babe. "Watkyn. Watkyn Belgrave. I like it. Hello, Watkyn" she said, cooing at their babe. Nothing could ever make him happier. 

* * *

It had almost been five years since she had any contact with her family; her old family. 

Though she was now part of a good noble house of the Reach, she did not always keep a steady hand in what was happening in the Reach. What she did hear about the Tyrells had not been good. Lord Mace Tyrell had been executed on the grounds of being a turncloak; once for Renly, twice for Joffrey, thrice for Tommen then attempting to gain sway in the new Targaryen court. She did feel a small pang in her heart, but he decided that she was not worthy to be his daughter, so he was not worthy to spill tears for. 

Her sweet cousins Megga and Elinor had died in the birthing bed. Their husbands Arthur Ambrose and Mark Mullendore swallowed in grief. After much waiting, Willas had finally married; to Sansa Stark no less. Garlan had been named Lord of Dunstonbury and Leonette had granted him a little girl and is hopefully expecting a boy. Last she heard of Aunt Janna, she had passed after the birth of her son, which had followed after the death of her husband Ser Jon Fossoway of New Barrel. Her grandmother Olenna had finally and peacefully passed in her bed. 

She had received letters from both Loras and her mother. Both pleading that she come. A part of her does yearn to see her brother's sweet handsome face, and feel the warm tender embrace of her mother's arms. But the her attention had gone to other matters. 

Gendry still had trouble in completing lordly matters and duties but was slowly growing into a genial and amiable lord that the people loved. Watkyn growing tall and strong like his father. Lia still a babe, crawling all over the keep. And they were already expecting another child, hopefully another boy. 

No, Margaery Tyrell was stupidly ambitious girl with notions of grandeur. Margaery Belgrave is a lady, wife and mother to a growing brood of children. Her old life was gone, and nothing and no one could ever take it away. This is her home.


	71. Little Peep (Ned/Cat,Littlefinger)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Littlefinger spies on Ned and Cat as they have sex in his brothel; but finds himself upset when Cat ecstatically states how she loves that Ned had been the only one who touched her

He should not be doing this; he knows that, somewhere in the sane part of his mind. But he cannot help himself...so he slipped away to conceal himself. He was compelled to do so; he could not stop himself even if he had wanted to. And now he has none but himself to blame, if he lies there, hiding behind the tapestries, nearly weeping with jealousy.  Cat...his Cat, always his. I should have challenged this Stark, if he were promised to Cat. I could have taken him in his prime. That hadn't been part of his plan. He'd hoped that the wedding would be postponed at the very least, he never expected the Wild Wolf of the North to die. He did not expect a war to arise. Yet, he did feel a certain amount of glee whenever he passed by the throne room. 

He knew Lysa wanted to marry him. But Lysa was a drunk, middle-aged maniac now. Her best years had withered away. She could be a useful puppet; she still had much to offer him.  
  
He'd expected Stark to still be clumsy, not knowing what to do with a beauty like Cat; pushing her on her back and recklessly shoving himself into her, as if he were shoving a lance into a quintain. Instead, he seemed like a maiden, blushing over the fact that he was in a chamber belonging to one of my establishments. Both of them looked to be more and more comfortable in their nakedness. They sat by the bed, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. Finally, Stark turned to her and kissed her. At first slowly and gently, and then harder. She seemed to enjoy his kisses, drawing closer to him, so that their arms were wrapped around each other. And then, he'd gently kissed her face, her forehead, her cheeks, returning to her mouth. They'd been sitting on the bed while they kissed, as their bodies drew closer. He gently drew her down to the bed, so that she lay on it, and he lay down beside her.  
  
And then he began to touch and kiss her body--her neck, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, returning to her mouth again and again, telling her, in a husky, hoarse voice how he delighted in her. She moaned as he kissed her, touching him, his back, his arms, his shoulders, even his arse. So that when he gently pried her legs apart, to get to her sex, she let him; her legs fell apart and her portcullis was down and bare for him to see. And then he knelt down between her thighs and kiss her lower lips. He not only kissed them, he seemed to be licking and sucking at them. And she threw back her head when he did so, clenching the bed sheet in her hands. Howling like a wolf, as if she was not such a lady.  
  
She pulled him to her, when he sat up, and pulled his body down on hers, wrapping him in her arms and rubbing herself against him like a harlot, even as she kissed him deeply, tasting herself in his mouth. He groaned deeply and began to gently squeeze and knead her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his fingers, suckling at each in turn, causing her to writhe in pleasure. Fervently, she began to whisper his name like a prayer.

That was when he slid himself into her, and she cried out in pleasure as they thrust at each other. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on with her moans and cries. 

"OH, GODS, NED!!"

"CAT!!"

"I'M SOO GLAD YOU TOOK MY MAIDENHEAD!! 

What? No. Why are you lying to him, Cat? You know you gave it to me! You sweetly gave it to me. Don't lie to him, Cat! 

I can still remember it. Your bright auburn hair swaying in the air. Reaching that it just barely and sweetly covered your nipples. How your breasts, so full with youth, had fallen onto my chest. 

"Your cock ... my maiden's blood ... it looked like a bloody sword!"

"A bloody sword can be a beautiful thing, my lady!" 

Cat then squealed with a giggle and in ecstasy. 

He wants to tell her to stop it: stop acting like the wolf in heat she is claiming to be. To stop her lies to him. But that would mean revealing just where he was, and what he was doing. Watching him, her, them. Would Stark strike him down? Would Cat let him? Would she lick off his blood from her beloved's fingers?

Stark even managed to get her to ride him, her breasts bobbing into his face, all the better for him to touch, squeeze and knead and roll her nipples between his callused fingers. She enjoyed that; enjoying every bit of him, writhing in pleasure. He liked her touching him and he let her know it. He liked her hair tickling him. And suddenly, they groaned loudly and crudely, as it had finally come to an end. 

They looked at each other and they kissed, as though sealing a pact. And he watched the two of them, feeling jealous, angry and an immense hatred. He could have prevented this, he thought. I could have prevented all of this, and made you mine Cat, as you should have been. As it should have been. I could have prevented all of it. 

* * *

Ned. You granted me a gift. A special gift.

Like all our children. Like our fist child, who is now a king, our last child is born in Riverrun, in the midst of a war.

And this time, she had gotten what she once dreamt of. A child who looked like a Stark. 

Surely, their new babe had her eyes, but he has tiny flecks of grey as your eyes were. Were. 

I can see your smile on his lips Ned. 

Edmyn. Our little Edmyn. I wish you had gone to know your father Edmyn. Mayhaps you will be like him.


	72. Valonqar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people who could have killed Cersei Lannister and the one who ultimately would

**_The Imp_ **

He had told her. First the witch, then him. **_I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid._** I should have been more vigilant. More prudent. 

I should hve done what the Gods failed to do and slain you in the cradle. Twist off your cock, and show it to Father, so that he may display it as a trophy of sorts. Yet, he could not do that. For he deemed you a son for some reason. 

Kinslayer and Queenslayer is all you are. And yet, a Lannister as well. As only a Lannister would repay their debts. 

 

**_The Flame_ **

Ashes. She could see and taste it. Ashes, ashes in her mouth. 

Tyrion's stupid wildfire plot failed. Lancel dying like a cheap mockery of Jaime, as he had always been. Tommen and Myrcella safe, for all she knew. Joffrey, however, was decimated in front of her. The wildfire burst and consumed him. It almost looked like a dragon swallowing him whole. 

Now, here she is, by the side of that accursed red witch as she recites some prayer to her red god. Stannis staring at her coldly as he stared at everyone. 

The flames. Consuming her as they did her son. They feel almost warm. 

 

**_The Night Wolf_ **

She had always haunted her. Always. She hung over her and her husband always. But now it was not her ghost. 

No, Lyanna Stark was as real as the wine in her blood. Always as she imagined. A wild beauty with a tangled mess of dark brown curls, a long face and a cool steely gaze. She almost looks like her beloved brother Lord Eddard, with some mighty small teats. 

But she could not made her silver-tongue snide. instead, she felt the words being pushed back into her throat. 

Each and every snide she wants to make about her and the Starks being shoved back down her throat, as the ghost of Lyanna Stark had wrapped her skinny pale hands around it. Choking the life from her. 

 

**_The Wild Wolf_ **

Ice. Icy his eyes and stare is. Wild auburn curls reaching down to her shoulders. His fingernails long and passed their digits. 

She can feel it, stabbing and burning her skin. His nails pressed to her neck as his teeth sink into her breasts. Blood pooling out of her. 

They had promised that they would take it all from her and bring what was known to them. The untamed wildness of the North. 

 

**_The Queen of the North_ **

She had been given everything back. Mostly everything. 

The Westerling girl that the King who Lost the North had given his kingdom for. She was by no means pretty. Certainly not worth losing a kingdom for. Slender of posture with chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face, and brown eyes. A plain girl for the plainest kingdom. 

Yet, all the northern banners flocked to her. Her own banner of nine shells adjacent to the direwolf of House Stark. 

Winter is finally coming to her. Winter has wrapped the cold all around her. 

 

**_The Kingslayer_ **

Why? Jaime, why?

I love you. We are meant to be together. Die together. 

I'm sorry. I never meant for it to happen. Please. I just want you. 

We can make a new child. One that is the best of me and the best of you!

But the words cannot come out of her mouth fast enough. She can't let them out. 

The golden hand of his nearly breaking her neck as he coldly presses against her throat. 

Please, Jaime. Please .... Jaime ...

Don't.


	73. Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each time that Prince Viserys had been promised a bride; they had shown their interest ... elsewhere

He knew that it was his time. Already at the age of one-and twenty, it was about time that he gained a bride to further the Targaryen dynasty. Rhaegar said that he would look to the great houses for brides and grooms for his niece and nephews, to further cement their rule and create a new and better regime. Daenerys as well. Dany deserves someone as good and as strong as the dragon. Not someone low that he'd be close to common born. 

 

_**Arianne Martell** _

He found it a bit insulting to say the least. We already tied to Dorne through Rhaegar's first marriage to Elia, why must I marry to Dorne as well. But then he realizes that it's not that bad. The Princess of Dorne is a lovely sight. OF an age to him, Princess Arianne is buxom and beautiful, with her olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back. She has full lips and round ripe breasts with huge dark nipples that are clearly visible through that diaphanous silk dress she wears.

She then curtsied and introduced herself. What a lovely sound. She talks quite fervently of Dorne and the infamous Water Gardens. Quite prideful to be a woman of Dorne. It is then his attention is turned elsewhere. He takes witness to his nephew in the training yard; facing off against a dornishmen on accounts of his garb. 

"Who is that?":he asks Arianne

"You lived and known him all your life, my prince. I'm quite surprised you fail to recognize your own nephew!" she said, clearly japing. 

"No, not my nephew. The man he's striking at."

"Oh, that would be my brother Quentyn. But I'm afraid his visit will be quite brief. He'll be headed back to Yronwood soon enough."

That was her brother? The gods had been good then; for Arianne at least. Prince Quentyn seems to be a sensible and dutiful lad like his nephew, if not more somber, but not the stuff that princes are made of. Prince Quentyn is short-legged and stocky, thickly built, with a plain face, brown hair and eyes like mud. He has a high forehead, broad nose, and square jaw. Just how on this earth could he be related to Princess Arianne? 

As he came to her chambers later that day, he thought of what to say to her. By all means, he was no poet. But suddenly, he heard a moan coming out of her chambers. It piqued his curiosity. Did she hurt herself?

"Ohh. My prince!!"

Her prince? I'm just outside your chamber door! Which wasn't completely locked, open just a smidgen. As he opened the door enough, not to warrant attention to him. he saw that she was with someone. He could see most of her nude curvaceous body in all its glory. She was straddling someone so beautifully. 

"Ohh. And here I thought the fabled Winter Prince had a cock made of ice!" she melodiously giggled. 

It was then that he realized in the mess of black curls draping underneath the man, that the man in question is his nephew Prince Jon, as he now dubbed himself as.

Fucking harlot. That's all a Dornish cunt is good for. A good fuck and nothing more.

 

**_Talla Tarly_ **

A servant. That's what this girl was, in spite of her obvious noble heritage. 

Talla Tarly is a rather kind and courteous girl of an age to his youngest nephew. Mousy brown hair, pale eyes and a round face. She keeps looking at me as if I were to strike her. She's so undeniably fidgety. Yet, there is a certain beauty in her rather plain features. 

She kept turning as red as a beet when near him. In spite of everything. She would blush when they would spend time together and blush when she had to go back to Rhaenys' service. What more can I do? I'm a gentle dragon, I need to show her that. So, he goes to Rhaenys' chambers to see if he can ask Talla to walk in the godswood with him. 

"Viserys? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here? I came to ask something of Talla. Where is she by the way?"

"She said that she was off in the godswood with you. At least ... I think so."

He then went off to the godswood. He feels so out of place here. It was no place for the dragon. 

Suddenly, he heard a highly girlish giggle. He then came close to the heart tree and saw Jon and Tall, by the trunk of the heart tree. Talla was nearly bare before him as she sat comfortably in his lap. Her mousy brown hair looking messy as he kissed the nape of her neck, down to her bosom. 

"Oooh, my prince. My sweet, sweet Jon!" 

Jon then silenced her with a kiss to the lips before hungrily mouthing her now bare breasts. Licking at them like some mongrel. Talla moaning more and more like a wanton woman. 

She can serve her cunt to anyone she likes. The dragon has no need of it.

 

**_Myrcella Baratheon_ **

In spite of being a traitor's daughter, he has to admit that she is pretty. Lady Myrcella seems to favour her mother's side with her golden curls, emerald eyes, and full lips. She's as delicate as a porcelain doll, beautiful, and courteous for her age. 

Is this what I'm to be reduced to? Wedding a traitor's daughter? Lord Robert seemed to have the same idea as he practically glowered at them both as he proceeded to show her the Red Keep. Even though she favours her mother, there is something of that innate Baratheon valour so often boasted of. A fire underneath her delicate features. She may be a worthy bride of the dragon.

But then his ire is drawn out once he sees Myrcella talking to Aegon. Both of them are giggling themselves quite silly. But Aegon is not like Jon, the wanton wolf he is. No, Aegon is a good lad, he would never do anything to gain my ire. 

Yet, I stand corrected. As he later bore a witness to the traitor's daughter's hands cupping Aegon by his groin. The both of them all too eager.

"You like my hands, my Prince? So delicate and deft?"

"Gods, swift as a stag you are!"

Figures. The traitor's daughter was a whore anyway.

 

**_Daenerys Targaryen_ **

She is truly worthy of the dragon. She is a dragon's daughter. A true daughter of Valyria; violet eyes, pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair. While she is slender of frame, she is bearing more of a woman's body. 

Rhaegar would surely grant her to him as a worthy enough bride and he knows that Dany would never object. She does love me so. She would never betray me. I should show her just pleasing it is that she is marrying to someone truly worthy of her station. A daughter and son of Valyria, joined together as done in the days of old. It's not like Rhaegar would award her to the traitor's heir, Gendry. And why would he? But he did not tell her of what that traitor's daughter had done. No, _Lord Robert_ was much too displeased by wedding his daughter to _dragonspawn_ as he called him.

I should show Dany just how worthy of the dragon she is. She is a dragon as well. What better to have as a husband than a dragon?

But suddenly, he hears a familiar sound. A moan coming from her chamber doors. No, Dany. You have not betrayed me, have you, sweet sister? Nonononono. 

He then saw her straddling Jon. His hands on her hips, her hands on his chest, her silver-gold hair wild and unkempt. I have never heard of a wanton dragon before. 

"Jon, Jon. I'm riding a dragon. Just like a dreamed," she said breathlessly. Both of them giggled at that. Dany suddenly arched herself to Jon to grant him a kiss. 

Wanton bitch! Slut! Whore! She is no true dragon!!

 

**_Lynesse Hightower_ **

Beautiful she is. Lynesse is very beautiful with her golden hair, skin the color of cream, and soft pale hands. Though, she is older than him. That does not matter though. She is a fourth daughter and he is third in line for the throne. A pity, is all it is. I am heir to nothing, and my children - our children, true blood of the dragon - will inherit nothing. 

The more he looks at her, the more she reminds him of Dany. They do look strikingly similar. With the exception of their bodies. Lynesse actually has a woman's body and frame; larger teats as well. Yet, that also reminds him of her. That Lynesse will betray him as Dany betrayed him. 

And at instant, he was right. They tried to be sneaky about it but failed. He could see them just behind the column. He could see her head by Aegon's crotch as he curled his hand into her hair. She could hear her gargle and spit on Aegon's cock while he delightfully moaned.

She's as wanton and traitorous as any other whore. 

 

**_Margaery Tyrell_ **

A true beauty, the little rose of Highgarden. She has thick, softly curling brown hair, large brown eyes, pale smooth unblemished skin, and a slender but womanly figure.Fair and lively with a shy and sweet smile. Everything about her is perfect. So perfect that either one of his nephews would entice her. Rhaenys to wed her lord brother Willas. What would stop them from bedding her? Or anything to get her lips around either part of their body? 

Or Dany for that matter? She's already proved herself unworthy of the dragon with her wantonness. What would stop her from taking his bride from him?

He did all he could. Show her around the Red Keep. Introduce her to the Kingsguard, whom she behaved courteously to. He even took her to the accursed godswood. He's even met her handmaidens, which included many young cousins and the ever-sultry Taena Merryweather. She thanked him with a sweet smile. 

"Viserys. How are you liking your potential suitor?" Rhaenys asks him one day. 

"Margaery is a very lovely girl, sweet coz."

"I'm glad for that. Though pointless to say the least"

"Why do you say that?" Is she not worthy of being the dragon's bride? Is he not worthy of being her husband?

"Because through my marriage to Lord Willas, the crown will have better ties to the Reach. The Tyrell's are an ambitious sort. Me married to Willas, Lady Janna married to Ser Stannis, Loras coming close to donning a white cloak. There's no point to it," she says tautly. 

A pawn. That's all I am. And the Tyrells ... upjumped gits. But ... why would Rhaenys tell him this? 

As he heads off to ask her, he hears something from Rhaenys' chambers. Something all too familiar. The door open just a smidgen. 

Rhaenys on top of Margaery. Both of their upper bodies bare, their breasts nearly pressing each other. 

"You truly are a Tyell, aren't you luv? Do you want to know how I really know?" Rhaenys said as she begins to place her fingers by Margaery's cunt.

"H-H-How do you know?" Margaery gasps. 

"You're practically squirting rosewater. Sweet, lovely, _tasty_ rosewater!"

Upjumped gits and harlots. Borne and bred. That's all they are. 

 

In the end, Rhaegar had decreed that he and Lady Lynesse marry. My ever lovely wife. My lovely traitorous wife. Though she did come to him a maiden, that did not last long. I know it is Aegon's bed she seeks. Aegon's cock squirting his seed into his traitorous whore of a wife. Mayhaps, Jon would like a turn? Or had already done so?

No, they have earned the ire of the dragon. It's only fitting that they should die at the hands of one!!


	74. The Wild Things (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic. They won't dance for coins, they don't care how you style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man.

He doesn't know what to make of it. For the longest time, he had considered Winterfell his home. For it was the only home he had known. 

But once he had slipped into the bearskin furs for warmth, it felt more comforting than anything he had known. Eventually, he would have to leave. Lady Catelyn made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, and would likely want him dead. 

Growing up in Winterfell, he didn't have a lot of friends. Robb was his friend. Robb was his best friend, rival, and first and foremost his brother. Robb would never have hurt him, but he did once. It was just a childhood fancy, nothing more. He tried to cheer him up but he failed. A part of him now wonders if Robb truly meant it, but it's best not to ponder it. 

There was Arya and Rickon. Arya was the only person who could seem to understand him and he her. Rickon, though he was only about four namedays old, brought him a great deal of comfort. Rickon, though to young to understand why he is named Snow, like Arya, didn't seem to care. Whenever he would run off from his mother or the servants, he would jump to his arms. At times, screeching at the top of his lungs whenever someone tried to remove him from him; perplexing many even his lady mother. But Robb, Arya, and Rickon are not here beyond the Wall with him. They are not his siblings, and should not be on his mind at the moment. 

He had been training with many of the wildling chieftains and befriended many of their sons. There was Tormund Giantsbane with his snow-white beard and broad chest, who often told many tall stories and often ruddy in the face due to drink. His eldest son Toregg is a foot taller than Tormund, with a voice as deep as his as well if not slightly leaner and bearing cascading fiery red hair. Torwynd the Tame was by no means a great warrior but a kind and caring lad to his younger brother Dryn, who's the same age as Bran and looked like his father in miniature. Styr had put him at arm's length, his son Sigorn was quite friendly to him. He too looked like his father in miniature, but slightly shorter and leaner. Although fierce, like all Thenns are, Sigorn bore a gentleness that was never seen. Gerrick Kingsblood and his brood are amiable if not a bit proud. His daughter Gylda constantly claimed that she would steal him for himself, and his son Gunthor claimed that he and his father would allow it.

Grenn was also his friend; his best friend and trusted compatriot after Robb. About a year older than him, thick of neck and head taller than him, Grenn was as loyal for a friend that anyone could ask for. He was a bit jealous that he already found himself a woman, in spite of Longspear Ryk's protests and attempts to ward him off. Ygritte, though short for her age, skinny but well-muscled, with a round face, small hands, a pug nose, crooked white teeth, and blue-grey eyes that are too far apart. Her most distinctive feature was her fiery red hair. The wildlings consider red hair to be lucky and describe those with it as having been "kissed by fire". Both of them are quite loud in bedding one another in the night quite loudly. 

If there was a truly lovely wildling, that would be Val. The wildling princess, as she was called due to her elder sister Dalla being wed to their king Mance. Val is such a beautiful woman with blonde hair the color of dark honey which she sometimes wears in a golden braid across one shoulder.She has pale grey eyes with flecks of blue, high sharp cheekbones and slender with a full bosom. About the same age as Ygritte, Val had often teased him since Mance had brought him beyond the Wall. Often calling him "The Wayward Wolf" , and at times "her wolf" whenever she decided to kiss him. 

Mance would keep encouraging him to kiss her and "steal" her when the time came. Val seemed to make it clear that she had no intention to be "stolen", even if Jarl had made numerous attempts to do so. Though he had been a raider for nearly eight years, showing a great amount of strength that men twice his age could boast of, Val oft seemed disinterested in him. At times, Val treated with a certain indifference, in account to being three years older than him. Yet, there were the days when she made him feel as warm as a summer's day. Her lips always warm and tasted like freshly picked berries. 

"Val will make an honest man of you, Jon." Mance would often say. That would seem strange even now. Jon. Not Jon Snow; just Jon. The wildlings didn't care that he was a Snow. For no Snows existed beyond the Wall. Everyone lived by the name they earned. Giantsbane, Lord o' Bones, Dogshead, Crowkiller. 

That could not be said the same for Dom. Domeric Bolton; whose surname still struck fear into the hearts of many wildlings, in spite of being witness to his innate kindness. He had been grateful to have been given the mission to scout on Bolton territory, he probably wouldn't have met Dom if he hadn't. Although, he had wished that they met under different circumstances. It had been Grenn's idea to take the heir to the Dreadfort; weaken one of the most powerful houses in the North. Dom was a skilled fighter, as quick and graceful as him, but Jon had been quicker that day. And Grenn delivered quite a punch to his head. "You guys were fighting forever?!" Grenn exclaimed, explaining his reasoning. 

Dom had some trouble at first, being part of wildlings and their culture but surely grew accustomed to it. He and Mance would often be singing and playing their instruments; Mance on his lute, and Dom on his harp. Both of them good singers as well; Mance's voice passable yet Dom's was as soft as the wind. 

But now was not the time to think on such things. Now, he felt anxious and nervous. Dom as well as he stood beside him. Rattleshirt and the Weeper had been making trouble for them both as of late. Rattleshirt with his numerous comments on how he doesn't belong here and mockingly calling him "Prince-Beyond-the-Wall" and Dom a "perfumed cocksucker". The Weeper's threats to gouge out their eyes had become more frequent. Things finally came to blow when both of them tried to stab them in the night but Mance had put a stop to it. 

Both of them called for a showdown. Tormund and Mance had given them black ringmail and plate which they had taken from dead rangers from the Night's Watch. Even adorning himself in black, it made him think of the Night's Watch which he had longed to join when he was a foolish boy with foolish dreams. The Night's Watch is not truly honourable. The only crime the wildlings have truly done was being born on the wrong side of the Wall. And much of what they do is to survive. 

His mind was then brought back to the present, as the Weeper brandished his long curved scythe and Rattleshirt honing his vicious ax. He had barely mastered being able to wield two blades yet Mance had taught him well. Mance taught me much yet he knew there were things he kept. He looked at that mended cloak of his over and over, that couldn't be the sole reason for deserting the Watch. There must be something more to it. 

This would be his first true fight; the first time he will have to kill someone. But Mance said that it would prepare him for the wars that have yet to come. Grenn came to him with Ygritte at his tail, wishing him good luck. Sigorn claimed that if he survived, then he would be presented with a gift. Val had granted him a long warm hug then kissed him deeper than ever. 

"Does this mean that you want me to ... steal you?"

"Oh, Jon Snow. You know nothing. You stole me long ago," she said, giving him another kiss. "And I can't wait for us to bed one another. I am yours and you are mine!" she answered with another kiss.

"Are you ready, Jon?" Dom asked as he pulled out his longsword, pointing it to Rattleshirt. 

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jon answered, The Weeper stared at him furiously with those rheumy eyes of his. 

Rattleshirt and the Weeper charged forward fast. Dom agilely dodged as did he; swift as the wind. Dom quickly managed to get several strikes in, while Jon was quite surprised by how the Weeper had been able dodge him in spite of his large scythe. Dodging and parrying it as long as he can until he left his body open for a strike. Suddenly, the voice of Eddard Stark rung loud in his head, "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword". Facing it with certainty, he knocked out the vicious scythe out of his hand and stabbed him right where the heart is. The Weeper's eyes looked rheumier than ever, before his mouth gushed with blood and Jon all but yanked the blade out of his body. Jon then bore witness to Dom hack off Rattleshirt's head from his body, with his giants skull helm still on it. 

Mance then approached them both. "You were boys green as grass when we found a brought you here. Now, you are men. Men strong enough and brave enough to endure what winter will throw at you." Sigorn then came up to him, bearing something hidden in a cloth. "Gift. For you, Jon the Wolf" he said. He had learnt much Common Tongue from him, and Jon had learned much of the Old Tongue from him in turn. 

It was the most beautiful things he had ever seen. First, was a bow made of weirwood and bronze enameled into it. The second gift was just as. A bronze helm in the shape of a wolf bearing its fangs. 

"You'll be ready for the wars to come now, boy," Mance said with a smile on his face. All the wildlings that had been under the leadership of Rattleshirt and the Weeper came flocking to him and Dom. Yet, all the wildlings seemed to be looking at him. 

"ALL HAIL JON SNOW!! MY PRINCE-BEYOND-THE WALL!!" Mance bellowed out. 

Suddenly, all of them were shouting "PRINCE!" Jon then raised his sword skyward, making them cheer louder. 


	75. The Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers a child, hiding under a bed with a kitten

She remembers a child, hiding under a bed with a kitten. She had been that child once. 

Rhaenys Targaryen, a child beloved by her parents and the realm, scared and lonely, had been hiding underneath the bed of her father, Rhaegar Targaryen. 

Rhaenys Targaryem, a lost dragon, believed to have been dead. A girl had died that day, when the mighty Lion of Lannister had decided to take the city. While his son had taken the life of her mad grandfather. But that girl was not her, it was not Rhaenys Targaryen. No, it had been a simple girl from Dorne, who had been her playmate who had died. 

I don't even remember her name after all these years. On the days she can scarcely remember her face, she calls her Nymeria, after the Rhyonish warrior princess. Nymeria, who was presented to the usurper, as a gift. As proof that Rhaenys Targaryen no longer lived to see another day. 

She had run off, leaving much of her old life behind. For nearly a year, Rhaenys had been an orphan girl. She had been a simple dirty girl by the name of Rhae, with no money and no people to love or care for her. Not until she was found. Found by a man she vaguely remembered. 

A man who reminded her of her mother. The famed Red Viper of Dorne; Prince Oberyn Martell. He had come to make some sort of peace to the Iron Throne in his elder brother's place. He had meant to find a brothel, but found another girl instead. A girl who had bore such a resemblance to his sister, her mother that it brought a tear to his eye. 

But she then played another role, once he had been brought to Dorne. Rhaenys Targaryen was no longer Rhae the poor orphan girl but was then Rhaena Sand; a bastard daughter of the famed Red Viper. She explained that it was to protect her, and that's what mattered. At least, I had someone to call a parent. And new siblings to replace the one I had lost. But that did not last long as well. 

When she was one-and-ten, after a brief trip to Braavos, she had went to Pentos with her uncle. From there, she had been reunited with the shade of her father. But she had to leave him, much to their own chagrin. They had to continue being people that they were not. She continued her masquerade of Rhaena Sand, and he continued his of Griff the Younger. 

While she continued, she learned from the other Sand Snakes. Obara teaching her to fight back to never be weak again. Nymeria taught her to tactful yet deadly. Tyene to ensnare a person with beauty. Sarella to keep an open mind and expand her knowledge. 

Once the time had come, there were little allies to rely on. Dorne had rallied to their side easily, as they were kin. The Tyrells had been swayed to their side on the premise that she'd be wed to their heir.  With great reluctance, the Baratheons had joined the Targaryens as they once did in days of old. The Iron Islands had remained where they were, and had made but failed in an attempt to conquer the North. Only one Greyjoy had joined the dragons. The Arryn had reluctantly followed his kin in the Tullys and the Starks. The Tullys, had followed the Starks. The Starks, like the days of old, had relinquished their crown, so that the Lannister's would be removed from the power they had stolen; no better than the Usurper like before. 

The Lannister's had been removed from their power. The Maniacal Lion who had called for the head of Lord Eddard, who had only wanted his family back throughout the Usurper's War, the very same lord who spoke for the dead girl he believed that was her, the baby boy who's head was mashed in believed to be her brother, and her very real mother. His head had been removed, in front of his accursed mother. The proud Old Lion of the West made to watch as his accursed legacy crumbled into ashes, before his head had been taken to. The Young Lion, now the Kingslayer, had been sent to live out his days in the accursed Wall, as it should have been. The Imp of House Lannister, now the ruling head , had bent his knee to House Targaryen. Though, he had lost an uncle and a nephew. 

Now, here was the youngest lion, brought to them all. Looking so scared, trembling, quaking in his soft supple slippers. Clutching on to his furry companion as if his life depended on it. A sweet little boy of nearly ten namedays, who had not thought of war. An innocent, as she once was. 

She could see the fear in his pretty green eyes. He knows what many of the nobles on their side are thinking. That he should be slain. His head adorning the walls of the Red Keep alongside his crazed cowardly brother, and his power-hungry mother and grandfather. His sister remained, and would continue to remain in Dorne. Trystane believes himself in love and pledged his heart and soul to young Myrcella Baratheon. 

They had killed many who had fought to keep the Lannister's on the throne. What is the life of one more innocent? But it's because he's an innocent - a child - that this ways heavily more on her mind than it could on Dany and Aegon's. Though the Baratheon was near adamant in his refusal, he eventually bent: agreeing that his heiress marry her once-cousin. Help mend the ties between the lands of the storm and the lands of the golden hills. Also, as the Kingslayer had been sent to the frozen Wall, another would leave his stead to make room for him. A wolf.


	76. Fosters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The families Jon Snow could have been fostered in and the one he could never escape

**_Mormont_ **

Bear Island was quite impressive. The island contains old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thornbushes, moss-covered grey stones, and steep hills with streams. Aside from a few crofters, the inhabitants of Bear Island live along the coasts and fish the seas. It was quite peaceful, especially considering that there were very little ironborn raiders. 

Father had thought it to be in his best interest to see much of the North, and Lord Jorah Mormont had been suggested to take on a squire. Jon knows that most boys; especially bastard boys would not be fostered anywhere, but Lord Jorah did not seem to mind. It was strange at first but he had gotten used to it. 

Every day, Lord Jorah would make him do any tasks that a squire would do: sharpen his sword, polish his armour and shield and train from dawn to dusk. He had felt a bit uncomfortable having Lyra as his sparring partner, until Lyra had kept goading him. "Mayhaps, you are a more southron wolf, Jon Snow?" 

Lyra had been a surprisingly good swordsman, and not just because she was a girl. Her movements as fluid as the crashing waves on the shores of Bear Island. Little Lyanna Mormont had often tagged along their sparring sessions; watching them with such eagerness. Her round face and sparkling brown eyes reminded him so much of Arya. They might just be the best of friends. 

He couldn't help but note the differences between all the Mormont sisters. Dacey, the eldest, is tall and lanky, abrasive yet elegant. Alysanne, short, chunky yet strong looking woman. Jorelle, was just a head taller and had curves which would make any woman jealous. Lyra still had a wiry body but was coming to develop a woman's body and her hands and fingers are nimble. Lyanna had a round face and sparkling brown eyes and bright smile. 

Yet, Lord Jorah's wife, Lady Lynesse of House Hightower had made him feel uncomfortable to say the least. Not in the same way that Lady Catelyn did with hers. But they seemed to unnerve him a bit, to say the least. She is very beautiful with her golden hair, and skin the color of cream. The way she stared at him made him feel utmost strange. She did seem miserable at Bear Island. Lyra says its because she misses home and is too much of a southron for Bear Island. 

That Jon understood. One needed to be tough to reside in Bear Island; there were more woman warriors than male, and Lord Jorah seemed to be the only knight. He could feel his own hands become more rough and calloused with each passing day. I'l be a true knight of the north soon enough. That is if Lyra stops goading him to kiss her, and repeatedly press her lips together in that mocking way. And in an attempt to stop it, he had accidentally kissed her. It was surprisingly rough and innately clumsy; their teeth clashing a bit when he realized that she wasn't pulling away. 

Things had been somewhat awkward around her, until he woke to her slipping underneath his furs. 

"Lyra, what are you doing?"  
"Stealing you, as the wildlings have done to many women and men on our little island!"

Mayhaps we can find our own place together. 

 

_**Manderly** _

White Harbor may truly be the jewel of the North. If Winterfell is the heart of the North, then White Harbor is it's mouth. It is clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that make it easy to walk around. The houses are built of whitewashed stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate. But more often than not, Jon would often be off in the Wolf's Den; admiring its history Though Ser Bartimus now held it, he can't help but think of it as the powerful fortress it once was and still can be. Though now a prison, it could still be more fortified.

Marlon Manderly had trained him day in and day out along with the heir to White Harbor; Wyllard Manderly. Unlike the other male Manderlys, Wyllard seemed to be the anomaly. Rather than being broad and large, he is lean and lithe of form and graceful in his movements, making his wavy blonde hair look like golden cascading waves. They had become good friends and rivals, constantly competing with one another. Be it archery, sword-fighting or horse-riding. And from what Ser Marlon had said about is progress as of late, he'll be on his way to being Ser Snow.

The Manderly ladies are quite lovely too. His eldest sister Wynafryd a classic beauty in the bloom of womanhood; just about a head shorter than him, long brown hair neatly tied in a braid that fell over one shoulder, laying across her dress, thus immediately drawing attention to her rather large bust. Wyllard's twin Wylla is as tall as her brother. Though her hair is the same light blonde like her brother, she dyes it a rather garish green and wears it in a braid. Taller than Wynafryd and more lithe of form. Wyllard oft "insisted" that he kiss his sisters, but he could hear the veiled threat betwixt his japes concerning his sisters. 

Yet, that made it all the more compromising. It had first started as a game of sorts, Wynafryd and Wylla both interested if he had kissed a girl before or had even been kissed. Wylla had started fist, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and placing her lips on his. She had tasted surprisingly salty, like the sea almost. Wynafryd had kissed him then; tasting of blackberry tarts. Even though he had enjoyed those brief moments, it only continued with one of them. 

Wynafryd inviting him more and more to her chambers at the brisk of night when no one was around. Her hands so deft and delicate, roaming all around his back, gently meshing the dark curls on his head. His hands gingerly placed just on her hips. At times, they had come close to nearly bedding one another, stripping one another of their smallclothes. Her hands moving all across his muscles, while his hands palmed her large bosom.

"Oh, Jon. My sweet, sweet Jon. Why couldn't you have been Jon Stark?" she would often whine while cupping his face. 

Every time she mentions that, it makes him regret that he had not been a Stark. If he were a Stark, he would ask for her hand. If he were a Stark, she would not be betrothed to Ser Patrek Mallister of Seagard. But for now, she and I will enjoy whatever time we have together. The kisses, the touches until they fade away from existence like the morning dew. 

 

**_Reed_ **

The Neck is rather impressive. Covered in swamp and bog, it divides the north from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The murky lands of the Neck are the key to any assault on the north. The castle of Greywater Watch never ceased to amaze him. The castle was built on and around a massive weirwood tree. Its roots had been twisted and formed around the pillars, columns, and walls of stone. Over the many long ages since the weirwood was planted and formed into the island, smaller trees of various varieties, as well as grass and vines, had taken root there as well.

Lord Howland had always been kind to him. While there are no maesters at Greywater, Lord Reed had taught him much histories of the Neck and the North, what he had known of it. He even taught him how to fight like a crannogman. While their tactics are certainly effective, Jon still found it dishonourable to say the least. "Not all men fight nobly, Jon. In the battlefield, men will do whatever they can to kill you". Though he had been right about that. 

Yet, he would always notice that Howland had sadness in his eyes. Etched into his very being. He wanted to ask him, but whenever he braved to ask, Howland would give him a smile. A false smile that looked happy yet he could almost see the sadness and pain within it as well. 

He had been surprised by Lady Jyana. Though she was of House Mallister, she had treated him rather amiably. Surprisingly enough, she had taught him much about swordsmanship and some finer points of archery. When he asked how she knew all this, she had simply told him "I grew up with an army of brothers and cousins who knew and learned to fight. I all but begged my father to teach me as well." Because of that, she had told him and her children, Jojen and Meera, of the day she had met her husband. How after the Starks of Winterfell had cleaned him up, he had fallen for her upon attending the Tourney at Harrenhal. She had admitted that because of his rather small stature, as all crannogmen are, that she had mistaken him for a squire to the Starks. Though it seemed quite clear that she had initial interest in someone in the Stark family, she never told them who it was.  
Mayhaps it was Uncle Brandon? From what he had heard about his uncle, the man who was "destined" for the North, he was quite a charmer and possibly not the most honourable of the Starks. With the way she looked guilty, he thought that it might've been his father. 

It is also because of how adventurous Lord Howland was and at times, still is, along with his wife, they would take their small boats down the Green Fork and see much of the Riverlands as they rowed from the Green Fork to the other converging rivers. On occasion, they had seen the Mallisters of Seagard. Because of her relation to him, Lord Jason behaved quite amiably toward them all. Though younger, Lady Jyana bore a certain resemblance to Lord Jason; handsome with high cheekbones and a chiseled face. On those rare visitrs, Lord Jason and Ser Patrek would test his martial prowess. 

Meera had been his sparring partner on occasion. At times, she has bested him with her net and three-pronged spear. At times, he would best her but he could never use the net like she did. Though he had begun to tower over her, Meera could easily use her short and slim figure to her advantage.They would even hunt together; frogs, rabbits, etc. Having hunted and sparred together, played together. Jon could easily have claimed Meera as a best friend. 

But he knew he was lying to himself that all his feelings toward her were just friendly. Their kiss was rather unexpected. They had decided to go further down the Green Fork to head down to the ruby ford to try and find Rhegar Targaryen's rubies. In their foolishness, they nearly fell in, giggling with such glee as they did. The moment they got up, Meera had kissed him. She likely meant to kiss my cheek, but failed. Meera had kissed Jon by the lips; short, sweet, innocent yet full with affection. 

They had dared not to such a thing like that again. After that, things had been somewhat awkward between them. The hunts they had taken part in were not as cordial as before. It seemed that the only person who had taken notice of the distance between them. Though sullen for his age, Jojen had always been an observant lad. He didn't have to say much; his deep moss-green eyes coupled with a hard stare had confirmed what he had known about he and his sister. 

"It's something you want, and something you need Jon Snow. Go on, and tell her. I know that she feels the same way."

Jon knew where she would be at this time of day; at the mouth of the Green Fork. He can only hope that Jojen is right in what Meera feels about him,

 

_**Martell**_

Dorne was much hotter than expected. The Dornish party had greeted him quite favourably. Prince Oberyn Martell, the famed Red Viper of Dorne, had looked initially skeptical of him but quickly turned into a more jovial attitude. The rest of the party treated him no different but curious to see a northman so far from the North itself. Dornish women were more openly and at times lewd, Dornish wine was certainly more sour, and Dornish food was full of queer hot spices that he still had not accustomed to. 

He was a little excited when Father had told him that Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne had agreed to his request to take him as his personal squire. Even though he was a bit old to be squiring, nonetheless, he did everything Prince Oberyn asked of him. He come to like and even respect the man. He has such zest for live that no one could rival. 

Jon no longer felt like the "frozen boy" that came to them. His blood would always be of the North though, no matter what. Yet, that didn't stop the transgressions that he committed. The promise he kept.

The Princess of Dorne, Arianne, is such a wicked woman with her devilishly teasing smile. Jon had practically vowed to never dishonour a lady. Yet, he would always find himself at her bed. Not even his own ironclad will could wane for such an enticing woman. Her large breasts often pressed on his own chest. Her wavy dark cascading hair mixed with his own as she would tuck herself onto his shoulder. But she was not the only woman that he had come to bed. 

He had no intention in doing so, yet he and Nymeria would often sneak off into Sandship, where they had their first tryst. He still faintly recalled the first time he had seen the Sandship; the squat ugly keep that looked like a dun-colored dromond that had washed ashore and turned to stone. Nym's modest, orb-like breasts so firm yet yielding as he oft caressed and wrapped his hands on them. Her full lips kissing down his chest. At times, he thought that the first Nymeria had all the beauty Nym had. It was no wonder why she would be named after the legendary warrior princess of the Rhoyne.

Tyene, like Arianne, seemed to want to bed him. It had been recent, as she had personally brought him to the Water Gardens. The palace amazed him; as children from all stations and areas of Dorne are sent to the Water Gardens to foster, where they play together at the beach, pools and fountains, and in the water. Though her eyes are deep blue pools like the ones in the Water Gardens, yet they somehow they reminded him of her father's eyes. Her lips so much softer and yielding. The gentle waters would kiss her skin so beautifully.At night, her delicate hands would wrap around his waist and would giggle into his ear how he was still a boy. He could talk on hours end with her; telling her of his life at Winterfell and she in told told him of her septa mother formerly of House Arryn after Prince Oberyn had "disgraced" her, and in a sept no less.

Jon had a notion that Oberyn had known of the trysts he had with Nym and Tyene, and even Arianne. But whether he knew it or not, it didn't seem to matter. Oberyn still treated him with the same light-hearted and jovial manner. Even told him with a slyness to his voice that he would be knighted within a moon. He had spent more time with the Dornish princess, yet even Jon knew that she could not marry a bastard, whether she wanted to or not. 

Nym and Tyene though ... He could build a life with them possibly. If they would even let him. Though, he could only see and imagine Arianne by his side. This felt wrong. 

 

_**Stark** _

It is no longer the same as before. Much of the materials used to restore the castle he grown up in had been taken from the place that he and many of his brothers had called home. 

Castle Black. The Shadow Tower. Greyguard. Greenguard. Oakenshield. The Nightfort and the Dreadfort. The accursed legacy of the Night's Watch and the Boltons extinguished and the cursed remains of their castle came to use. 

It was now larger and stronger than he could have possibly imagined. 

"Y'know, Arya always talked about this place like nothing and no one could ever touch it. Now, I think nothing and no one can't ever!" Gendry said with pride in his voice that he took part in the castle's restoration. 

"So, this was your home?" Dany asked as she wrapped her arm around his own. No, this was not Winterfell. Not the one he knew. The old Winterfell with Old Ser Rodrik and Jory, Gage the cook who would let him take sweets from the kitchens, Septon Chayle who had granted him some comfort when he had gone to the library to cry his eyes out, Maester Luwin who taught him so much. 

Eddard Stark, who would always be his father, no matter what. Even if they stamped Targaryen across his forehead. Robb, who would always be his brother. His father's smile and his brother's laughter gone from this world along with the old Winterfell. 

"Not was. Always. Winterfell will always be my home. No matter what," he said, looking at the walls somberly. 

"We can't take the wolf out of the dragon," Aegon japed but a small sad smile was across his cherub-like face. 

Ghost then came to his side, his hand naturally mussing his fur. I was a wolf long before I was a dragon.


	77. Comet (Jon & Allyria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastards, lords and ladies discuss those of past and what they scarce know and remember

It was strange looking at the lady before him. Once, he had heard that her famed sister, the Lady Ashara Dayne, might've been his mother. As he dreamed once; highborn, beautiful and kind. And Allyria was said to have inherited the late Lady Ashara's beauty. 

But as he stared at her, he noted that as much as she inherited of Ashara, there was much she inherited from her father. The man he called Father. The Stark within her. Allyria bears dark brown hair that looks black by lamplight, and grey-violet eyes - the kind of purplish grey of a storm about to rumble and release lightning - and a rather long face. Adorned with pale skin, strong cheekbones, relatively clear complexion, and perfectly round almond-shaped eyes in an oval face If anything, Jon thought that Allyria looked like a strange mix of Arya and the boy lord of Starfall. 

With the War for the Dawn done, he had thought it fitting that he return the Lord of Starfall and their ancestral blade back to their home. Lady Allyria was a bit apprehensive at first, but almost immediately behaved cordially upon seeing Lord Edrick. Even far south, the name Stark holds strong and true. 

Edrick had told him much of Wylla, who had been their wetnurse. Though now a man grown and having seen the perils of war, Edrick still had a innocence about him. It reminded him so much of Bran, wherever he may be. He had been the one to insist that he and Allyria talk. Especially upon clarifying the information he had heard. Though, Edrick was a bit sad that they were not more than simple "milk brothers". 

He had found Lady Allyria by the Palestone Sword, the same place where her mother had supposedly thrown herself. She looked so crestfallen and her face downcast. "They had tried to hide it, my mother and father. Or rather, the people I believed were my mother and father." Of course, she's disappointed. Her lady mother resurfaced alive and well, and a part of the new king's court. My brother's court. That's still rather strange. In spite of uncovering his heritage, he couldn't help but think of Robb as his brother. The brother he knew, the brother he loved, the brother he chose. 

"I always heard tales of her. And Lord Eddard. How though Lord Eddard was not as fair and charming as his late brother, yet Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, had truly saw and fell in love with him, and he in turn. I wished for that kind of love. My own husband didn't even matter, as long as he was kind, brave, gentle and strong. He needn't be the most handsome man in the world." She was likely talking not only of marriage prospects, but her own betrothed as well, Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Jon didn't know the man personally, only by his fierce reputation. How his red-gold mane of hair flowed like furnished copper, how he moved at the speed of his sigil, the fearlessness in battle. 

"I didn't know Lord Beric personally, but he seems like the kind of person who would have done right by you, and been a good husband."

"He would have. I know it. A bit vainglorious, but what man of one-and-twenty isn't? He talked of naming me his Queen of Love and Beauty in the next tourney he and I would attend. Now, it may be some other man. A complete stranger. A Lannister for all I know," she said with a bit of scorn. 

Jon would not be surprised. There are still an abundance of Lannisters. Mayhaps Devan Lannister. He truly is a lion at heart and not a snake in the grass. 

"My lady, I ... I "

"Tell me of my father, Jon"

That completely shocked him. She wanted to hear of Eddard Stark ... from him? In that moment, she reminded him of Arya; willful and straight to the point.

"I ... uh ... um ... What is it that you'd like to know, Lady Allyria?"

"Anything. And everything. I only know that he loved my ... mother greatly and dearly."

"While I cannot say of his past loves, Lord Eddard was very much a good man my lady," he started. It felt strange to talk about him now in such a way. He had all but said his name in scorn upon uncovering his lineage. But he could never truly hate him. "He was the greatest man I ever knew. The kind of man you described my lady. Brave when he needed to be brave, strong when he needed to be, kind. Eddard Stark was a great and wonderful father. And I think if he had met you, or if none of this had ever occurred, he would have loved you like his own."

A hiccup of sorts emerged from her. Big fat tears welled deep from within her eyes, began to pool out of them. The sight of her silent crying reminded him so much of how Arya cried her eyes out upon seeing him. He didn't think that he would ever see her again and all the pain and sorrow that he had buried came out as she loudly cried into the crook of his neck. It was instinct that drove him to do the same thing to Allyria. 

She is family. Kin. She almost sounded like a wolf, crying out for her pack. And at long last, she had found it. 


	78. Packs and Pride (Janei/Rickon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lion and the wolf united

He hates them both. Stupid Sansa, stupid Lannister baby man. 

I don't want to marry, especially the yellow-haired shit they picked. Doesn't matter if she's pretty as Sansa's southron gods. He half expected the northern lords to revolt in anger at Sansa's decision, yet they seem hopeful almost. Traitors!

He wants to curse his loyal bannersmen for all but dragging him to the godswood to marry her. Wants to curse the Greatjon for hefting him up like a babe and bringing him there. I'd thought he would be on my side at least.

Janei, he learns her name. The Imp's niece or cousin or something. She looks nice enough with her sun-kissed hair and pale grey-green eyes. But it doesn't matter how pretty she is. Her family took Father away. Then Mother and Robb. How can Sansa do this to me?

"It's for the good of everyone. The ties between the Starks and the Lannsiter's truly mended." Stupid Sansa. 

Even when they are dragged to the bed, he doesn't want to do it. Almost. Until he sees her pale unblemished skin and bright pink nipples so erect in the cold, cold north. He has the idea to take her like Morgan Magnar told him how most Skagosi and wildlings took their woman. But she's sees her skin become more pale, as if she knew what he was thinking. 

She probably didn't want to marry me either. So, he does his duty by her as gently as he possibly can. He wants to hate her even after he beds her, wants to hate her as she smiles to him and her smile is so full of love.

Each moon passes and her belly gets bigger and bigger. The talks between them are few and scarce like the few scraps he ate during the Second War for the Dawn. Things are still strange after all this time. 

He headed off to see how the Mormonts were faring in their new keep of Queenscrown. They now ruled as lords and ladies of Queencrown, Defender of the Gift. It must be strange calling this new place home. It is then that he hears that she has gone into labor, and he all but gallops his way back home. 

All the wishes of wanting to hate her leave him as he hears her shouts of pain. He paces the hall and finds he cannot talk when Sansa tries to soothe his worries. It's when the shouting turns to sobbing, begging, and bloodied sheets are rushed out to be replaced that his panic reaches a high.

He tries to force his way in, but is dragged away by Gawen Glover and Larrence Hornwood. And then her sobbing, her begging, stops, and Rickon feels as if his life's blood has frozen over. A shrill cry pierces the silence, and Rickon does force his way in this time, pushing past Gawen and the midwives.

Janei looks to him, pale and sweat drenched, their babes in her arms, and she smiles to him, her smile still so full of love in spite of how tired she looks. She offers one of the babes to him, telling him both are boys yet he's holding his heir, and he takes the babe into his arms.The babe wiggles till it seems comfortable against his chest and yawns, his tiny face scrunching up and his little arms raising.

He touches his wife's pale face gently, then kisses her forehead. Janei begins to cry, though she smiles to him. Their son between them, his wife smiling tiredly up to him from her place against his shoulder, Rickon realizes he loves her and he tells her. She says it back. I was wrong, I love her with all my heart.


	79. Flabbergasted (Robb/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tyrells are surprised that the sweet Rose of Highgarden ... has such a dirty mouth ... and dirty desires!!

They walked down the corridor and Margaery led them into a room with a bed laid out with wine and fruit on a small platter on the bedside table. Robb turned to lock the door behind them and cleared his throat awkwardly. "So..."

Margaery stood in the middle of the room with her back to him. The dim light hid the fact that she was flushing as much as he was. She reached behind her and placed his hand on her hip.  Robb's breath felt hot on her neck and she felt something sharp nick at her skin. He bit down gently on her neck. Margaery mewled and convulsed, as Robb began ripping her gown off, leaving her bare from the waist upwards. Fire spread through her flesh, her skin suddenly almost scalding to the touch.

Margaery arched her back and backed into him, her bare back pressed against Robb's chest. His other hand slid around to her stomach, his fingers passing over her navel. Through the layers of fabric around her hips, she ground her arse slowly against him. Robb growled and the hand on her stomach immediately moved up and grasped her breast roughly. He squeezed and kneaded, it was harsh and painful and primal and she loved it. She gasped and panted and grunted, mouth opening and closing. His other hand slipped into her smallclothes and his fingers began to move, just as harsh and unrelenting. Maragery's vision had spots and she immediately felt like she would collapse. He rubbed at her slit and probed briefly with a finger.

She cried out and came hard around his hand, her form slumping against him for a moment. Margaery turned around and stuck her chest out, showing him her full, firm breasts, one still red from his grip. She bit her lip and looked at him with her golden-brown eyes.

* * *

"Ohh, Ohhh!!" he heard his daughter moan. What does this wanton wolf think he's doing to my daughter?! 

Alerie seemed to sense his anger somehow. "Calm yourself, love. This **_is_ ** a wedding. This **_is_ ** supposed to happen, even though you and your son by law called for no bedding," she reasoned. She's right. Though I don't like the idea she is still my beloved daugh - 

"Ohhh, yes, Robb!! S-Slap my teats!!"

Slap? Her teats? By the gods!

* * *

Robb's throat went completely dry, his hand still moist. He reached out with his other hand and she slapped it away. Sucking on his neck, she whispered in his ear. "Good things come to those who wait. First, I want you out of these clothes so I can suck your cock and then I want you to fuck me like your little wolf bitch." She looked up at his clear glinting eyes like ice, wolfish eyes. After staring at her for a moment, he relaxed and his hands dropped to his sides.

"Good boy." Margaery pecked his lips, her tongue brushing against them. She pushed him into a chair and straddled him, shifting her weight directly onto Robb's arousal, earning a grunt of discomfort. She arched her back and he bit one of her breasts gently. Her hands began to unbutton his shirt, running fingers down his muscles approvingly. Eventually, she twisted the tunic off of his arms and rested her hands on his chest, admiring him. She looked up at his eyes and the look he gave her made her want to finish again right there and then. She grinned and pulled his breeches and smallclothes off his legs. His hardness sprang out and into her hand. Robb's breathing hitched at the contact. She climbed off him and turned around, bending over and pushing her skirt down her legs, exposing her arse to him. Margaery stood and leaned over him, kissing him gently, while her hand reached down and wrapped around his cock.

* * *

"Ohhh, there's a lad. Such a good boy!!" She heard her daughter say. By the Gods, just what has the septa been teaching her? Or did Olenna say some ... unsavory things about the marriage bed? Oh, dear gods ...

* * *

Robb growled as she began to pump her hand along him. His fingers twitched, yearning to reach out and touch her again. Margaery tugged at him, pulling him to his feet. She looked up at his face, her eyes glowing with mischief, before kissing him harshly on the mouth one more time before she moved down.

Margaery opened her eyes, blinking against the dawn light. _Perfect._

She looked down at Robb, as his body suddenly slacked. Her gaze drifted from his handsome features to his broad shoulders to his big hands and muscled stomach. Further still, his lower half covered by the blankets. The bed was in disarray, sheets practically crushed and clothes strewn in a pile before the foot. Margaery brushed the covers aside and leaned up onto her elbow. He was still hard.

Just as she was about to take him in her mouth, she gasped as Robb's hand moved down and grabbed her arse, sliding a finger into her cunt. Her mouth fell open and she immediately felt another tongue rubbing against hers. She opened her eyes and gazed into his smiling blue ones.

"Do I need to get used to having the most beautiful woman in the world in my bed every morning?" Robb murmured huskily.

"Fuck me again and you'll find out." She breathed in response. Robb nodded and bit her breast (making her scream in the process) before letting go and shifting position. Margaery waited until he had turned and his hands were on her hips before slipping from his grasp and standing from the bed.

She moved to the wall, rested her palms against the stone and arched her back so that her arse stuck out. She looked back over her shoulder seductively with her golden eyes and wiggled her hips.

That was all the encouragement Robb needed. "Using the wall now, my sweet rose?"

"We've used the floor, the chair and the bed already, lover. I wanted to give the wall a go. Plus," she backed onto him and felt his hardness between her buttocks. "I can show you _where_ I want you."

Robb was clearly taken aback by what she was demanding. "Margaery, I've heard that it can hurt, a lot. And it won't help get an heir."

"You've fucked my mouth and my cunt, Robb, and I loved it all, this shouldn't be different. Besides, you pumped enough seed into me to field a small army. I promise to stop you if it hurts too much."

* * *

Just how long can they go on? They should have stopped an hour ago at least!! Mayhaps that is the true power of youth? Being able to fuck all day and all night? Not even Renly and I can do that for that long!!

He shouldn't be hearing such things. The both of them ... moaning and groaning in pleasure and possibly pain. He wants to get in there and stop them in all that is sacred and holy. Yet, he also kept hearing her say "By the Gods!" 

Mayhaps it'd be rude to interrupt ...

* * *

Robb didn't seen convinced. "I think we should try and get--" Margaery turned around and dropped to her knees. She applied a few layers of saliva to his cock, feeling him get even harder on her tongue. Robb hissed and unconsciously thrust into her mouth a few times.

By the time she and the vine came away, Robb's cock was glistening. Margaery rubbed him against her cunt for added measure and guided his head into her arse. "Ah." She sighed as she sank slowly down.

"Gods." Robb whispered behind her. His fingers were like a vice, digging into her hips.

"Does it feel good, my sweet lord?" Margaery teased, "Do I please you?"

Robb grunted. "It would be so easy..." He muttered in her ear, thrusting gently but firmly.

"More." She whispered. "More, more. Oh, shit." Her cursing only turned Robb on more and he obliged. One hand drifted down to her cunt and rubbed vigorously, the other flat against the stone wall as she backed into him.

Robb picked up the pace and slapped her arse, jolting her into submission like he was the one who suggested this. He bit her earlobe gently and kissed her neck.

"Am I your whore, Stark?" Margaery managed through the moans. "Am I your little bitch? Your mate?"

* * *

At least the Stark boy is quite virile. Most men would just stick their prick in and out until they were done. Almost nothing of satisfaction for the woman. And my sweet rose is certainly enjoying herself very much. 

"Y'know, this reminds me of mine own wedding knight. Luthor looked even more handsome without his doublet. Even at the end, when he told me how my teats are 'Ripe for Victory'. Mayhaps our sweet Margaery will 'Grow Strong' with this experience?"

"M-M-Mother!! Stop that this instant?!!"

"Ohh, hush now, Mace! And how do you think you and your sisters came to be?"

"Am I your whore, Stark?" Margaery managed through the moans. "Am I your little bitch? Your mate?" With the way you're going, you are most certainly a bitch by the end of the night. Or birthing out a vast litter of them.

* * *

"Of course not." Robb responded. "You are my lady." He gave a final, brutal thrust and came in her arse. The feeling and his words sent Margaery over the edge with a loud scream, her legs buckling, and she collapsed to the ground. Robb stayed inside her and held her up until he was on his knees with her. He stroked her stomach gently. She lifted herself off of him with a moan and rolled onto her back, still fondling her own chest.

"Was that to your liking, my lady?" Margaery chuckled breathlessly, sweat pouring down her body, giving her skin a bewitching shine.

"Gods, yes." She clasped his face, kissing him gently as though he hadn't just pounded her against a wall.

"Good." Robb licked her sensitive nipple. "Now I know how to keep you on a leash." 


	80. Frozen Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter will come for them all ... with Fire and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this theory: http://towerofthehand.com/blog/2015/05/21-eddard-starks-other-bastard/noscript.html

He reminds her so much of the people she lost. 

The epitome of Valyrian looks from the king who could have been; Rhaegar. 

Sweet and gentle as Elia. The woman she thought of as a sister. 

Glib and sneering like Oberyn, who she loved as dearly as a brother. 

Honourable and compassionate, like the man she loved; his father. 

At times, she can see that stupid grin that once belonged to his wild uncle adorning his sweet cherub like face. There are times, when Aegon is practicing his swordplay with Rolly, she is seeing Arthur again. His silvery hair flowing in the wind like his.

It felt strange calling her son that name. Aegon. But it was Aegon he needed to be. The Spider said that the kingdoms needed to rally behind a king; a true king who knew and realized that kingship was a duty and not a lordly and god-given right. And his wit is becoming as sharp as his blade with each passing day under Haldon's tutelage. 

Aegon. I wonder what happened to that boy. The Spider claimed that he managed to replace him with a boy procured from Flea Bottom in exchange for a cask of Arbor Gold. But where had he gone? He claimed that he had been lost en route to Starfall. But now, her child was Aegon instead of the name that she gave him. 

Yet, he has been Aegon for so long that she doesn't remember the name she gave him. Jon? Arthur? Edrick? Willem? It was a good Northern name, that much she knew. 

He trains every day and night, looking every inch of a warrior. Becoming more and more the king that is needed. At times, she sees Ned in his eyes. Black by lamplight, purple  in the light of dusk but truly blue. A dark blue bearing semblance to the cold fury of the North and the man she loved.

When she had heard that some ill-begotten Lannister bastard claimed himself King and slain Ned Stark ... she didn't think her heart could break again. It was hard the first time. It broke all over again. She knows that Ned would never approve of what she had been doing. But we both lost much in the war; the people we loved the most. 

Griff views him as the man he loved and lost. It may have been a secret to him, but it was painfully obvious to everyone within the keep. Mayhaps Rhaegar himself had known ... Still, it would be painful to watch knowing that the boy he believes is Rhaegar's child, a child who he likely sees as his own son, is anything but. 

Everything is coming together. The Cheesemonger and the Spider's plans coming into play. Those greedy Lannister's will be removed from the power they have ever so desperately sought for. Tywin and his ever mighty legacy will come crumbling down. 

Winter will come for them all ... with Fire and Blood.


	81. Starbright (Arthur and Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's the last good thing my sister left behind. I'll love him as much as I loved her.

A large shrieking wail had suddenly pierced into the night. 

On instinct, he had walked into the room where it came from. A baby boy, just barely six months old, waving his tiny fists around. 

_I know why your crying._

"Shhh-shhh, it's okay. It's okay. Calm down, Jonny. It's okay," Arthur said, soothing his nephew to sleep as he gently rubbed small circles on his back while bouncing him on his knee.

He then looked at his nephew. There was little that his sister left in him. Like her, his hair was undeniably black. He does have his nose and maybe Ash's small mouth and lips. The one thing that undeniably marked him from his dad were his eyes; Stark grey. But Jon is still a cute baby.  

It wasn't in him to hold grudges, but he still felt a pang of anger to Ned. It's not his fault, the rational part of his head knows, but he can't help but want to blame him. It was easier. Ash had experienced a blood clot that had gone unnoticed upon an emergency c-section. Ultimately, she bled out and died.

She was everything to him. Ashara always knew how to make him laugh and put a smile on " _that stony-face of yours_ ", she'd always explain. " _You have a nice smile, Arthur! Show it for once!_ " Always chastising him in that playful manner. That smile oft plastered on her face, often meaning " _I know something you don't_ ". That grin of hers which meant " _You don't know me and never will_ ".

Yet, Ned Stark somehow managed to understand her. That grin of hers flashed into his head again; the same grin of amusement or taunting; telling him and their parents that they didn't know her and never did. Ash freely admitted that she was always attracted to the "prettier things in life". If anyone of the Starks seemed to fit the bill, that'd be Brandon Stark, with that swaggering strut of his. It would be so much easier if he was Jon's father, he could more than easily hate that guy. That kind of guy who practically expects to be handed the world on silver platter. But it was Ned Stark that his sister was in love with. Ned, who didn't have such easy confidence but the "sweetest smile" and the "most gentle heart".   
_"I honestly think you might like him, Arthur"_

Both of them fought long and hard for custody of Jon. Considering that Jon is indeed Ned's son, he received custody while Arthur had gotten Jon on the weekends and holidays with the sole exception of Christmas. Better than nothing. 

Arthur then looked at his nephew, who was now being lulled into sleep. Just before his tiny little body went limp, he bore a small smile on his perfectly small lips. Ashara's smile; that same smile that always said that she knew something that he didn't. Arthur Dayne had never been more lost and befuddled in his life. He's the last good thing my sister left behind. I'll love him as much as I loved her.

* * *

He had run out of baby formula and baby food, so he had to go to the supermarket to get some among other things. Numerous women kept eyeing him. 

Women really do go nuts for babies. Yet, he had a feeling they were also staring at him to an extent as well. Arthur never considered himself to be "the most beautiful man on the planet" but he also knew that he certainly wasn't the ugliest either. 

"Arthur?" he heard a familiar voice. "Dayne, that you?" another familiar voice called out. 

It was none other than the infamous Red Viper and his sweet gentle sister; Oberyn and Elia. A little girl who looked much like Elia was holding on to Oberyn's hand while Elia had her own bundle of joy stretching his arms at her. 

"So, you finally popped your cherry, or did you suddenly decide to kidnap a kid to start your own perverse family?"

"Oberyn!!" Elia said in a chastising manner while punching him on the shoulder. She then eyed him, and pointed to her daughter. Clearly, she didn't want her child to have her uncle's infamous silver tongue. Oberyn then gave a rather sheepish nod. 

Elia then inched herself closer to his cart. "So, who is this little cutie pie you've got? Hi, there!" she said cooing at Jon. Jon looked a little overwhelmed, starting to look at him and close to crying. 

"It's okay, Jonny. Elia's a friend," he said to calm him down. "He's painfully shy round others," he offered as an explanation. Elia clearly knew what she was doing, as she gently touched the soft curls on his head gently, then cooing at him. In turn, Jon gave a happy squeal of delight. 

"Ohh-ho, he's adorable! So, did you finally start a family Arthur? Who's the lucky girl?"

"Jon's not mine, exactly. He's ... Ashara's," he explained. The uneasiness in his voice caused the Martells to look a bit downcast. Reasonable, Ash and El had been B.F.F's and Oberyn and Ashara were partners in crime. 

"He certainly looks a bit like her. He's got her hair, and maybe the shape of her eyes too." Elia said taking note of Jon. 

"He's got Ash's pretty lips too," Oberyn quipped. Once again, Elia smacked him on the arm, like he were an impudent child who had been caught stealing sweets. 

"I think he's got something of you too, Arthur. He's definitely got your nose. You got Arthur's nosey, don't you, Jonny?"

Jon merrily giggled as Elia gently and playfully poked at his nose, trying to catch her waving finger. Arthur then noticed Elia's son waving his arms at her from the shopping cart where he was seated. he was clearly jealous of the attention his mom was giving Jon. 

"Ohh-ho-ho, like I could ever forget you, my sweet baby boy!!" Elia cooed at her son, who happily squealed at his mother's attention. "So, maybe we can have a play-date for the boys? I gotta feeling that they'll become the best of friends!"

"Yeah, I-I'd like that for him. But I'd also need to put this through Jon's dad," Arthur said with a slight grimace. Elia quickly picked up on it, while Oberyn suddenly flashed a smirk. 

"I still can't believe that that frozen fool managed to charm the pants off of Ash. Hell, I still can't believe that she managed t - " Oberyn began to say until he and Elia both smacked him across the face. 

Elia's daughter then began to laugh merrily. "Uncle Obe's so stupid, mama!" Elia then bent down to her daughter and said, "Yes, Uncle Obe's very, very stupid!" Giving a small laugh. 

"I'm certain Ned would understand, but it's reasonable that you should tell him about it. See you around, Arthur. Bye-bye, Jonny!" Elia said with a tittering giggle. Jon then gave him a small look, which seemed to border on something akin to "I like her". "It's hard not to like her, jonny. Elia's the best person to have around," he softly muttered in Jon's ear. 

* * *

I'ts hard not to look at him and be reminded of his sister somehow. 

He and Aegon seemed to merrily crawl around everywhere, while Rhaenys tried to catch them. Those two already seemed to be becoming good friends, and hopefully it would continue that way. 

"They look adorable together, don't they?" Elia said, breaking him out of the spell that was under him. "Um, uh, yeah, th-they do."

"I miss her too, y'know," she said somewhat somberly. That was always like Elia, trying to understand the situation. But she couldn't understand, not truly. She didn't see her own brother or sister bleed out in front of them. She never felt that irrational part that wanted to hate his nephew. She could never understa - 

"I know that I can't possibly understand what you went through Arthur, but you're not the only one who misses her. I miss her. Oberyn misses her. Sometimes, Rhae asks for her "Aunty Ash" and I have to remind her that she's gone. And I know for a fact that Ned misses her too. I would go ballistic if anything happened to Doran or Arthur. Ju -  Just know that you're not alone in this. Jon's going to want to know about his mom, and I'll be there to tell him all the funny stuff we got into. Like that time we put laxatives in Eri - OK, maybe not that story but you get the gist." Elia said. 

Arthur felt tears but he choked them back in. On some sort of primal instinct, Jon came toddling to him, raising his arms up high. As if he knew that he needed a hug and comfort more than Jon ever did. So, he hugged him more deeply and lovingly than he ever did. 

* * *

The bell rang. He knew what it meant. 

"C'mon, Jonny. Daddy's here," he said as he gently put him on his shoulder. 

As he came to the door, he saw Ned Stark looking as formal as before. It reminded him of the first time he came to his house. When he carefully, and playfully told him that he would chop off his dick if he did anything to Ash. _Leave him be, Arthur. It's not him you should be worried about_ , his sister's voice rang aloud. 

"Stark," he said. "Arthur," he replied in the same stoic tone. His face then cracked as he saw Jon, who in turn, stretched out his arms and squealed at his father. 

"Jon didn't give you too much trouble, did he?" Ned asked. He knows that he already has another kid on the way, if he heard correctly. 

"Nah. He's impossibly quiet half the time. But when he does cry, ... "

"I know. Like a banshee or something"

"Right!" he said, finding it strange that he was chuckling. Really strange. "OK. So, here's his diaper bag. His little wolf is in there too. Make sure he's got his pacifier, he's teething."

"I got it. Wanna say bye-bye to Uncle Arthur?" Ned lovingly cooed at Jon. Jon seemed to understand, as he waved his impossibly tiny hand at him. 

Ned then put him in his car seat and put his diaper bag by the side of it. Just before he got into the driver's seat, he then took a hard look at Arthur. It was what Elia was talking about. He understands; he misses her too. 

"I know. Take care now"


	82. Family - Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees the family he lost in the boy he would like to call a son and the one time he sees his father in him.

The boy had only come to Winterfell a moon ago. Yet, he found it hard to believe that this boy was a Targaryen. He looked more like a Stark. Like me. Like Lya. And all the rest. 

 

**_Rickard_ **

He has the very same quiet dignity that his own father had. But Jon was always quiet, rarely speaking a word at times. All of it still quite new. Yet, that seemed to make it all exciting. Which made it all the more harder to find Jon at times. Often running around and exploring every bit of Winterfell.

Much like his father, the boy has an inquisitive mind. While he does not like sums like Bran did, he does love the histories of Westeros, much like his father. The way he takes to Luwin's lessons was like a fish taking to water. His nose stuffed in a book concerning the North. 

"Uncle Ned! Uncle Ned!"

"What is it, my boy?"

"Is this true? Supposedly, Bran the Builder's father was Brandon of the Bloody Blade. But Brandon of the Bloody Blade was from the Reach. Does that mean we have reachmen blood in our veins? Am I not a northman then?"

Ned couldn't help but chuckle at his inquisitiveness and worrisome expression. "Those are just tales. Mayhaps, it's possible. Whether Brandon of the Bloody Blade did sire Bran the Builder is true or not, The Builder became part of the north. He has the North within him. Do you understand?"

"I think so ... Can we visit the Wall one day? If Brandon of the Bloody Blade did chase the giants away, maybe Bran the Builder used them to build the Wall?"

So inquisitive and burying his nose in histories of the North. He even remembered how his father would tell him and Brandon tales of the return of the Children when they were boys. 

 

**_Benjen_ **

It was strange watching him with all those boys. Some of them had come with him as a nature of goodwill. Others he had truly been friends with. Young Humfrey Waters, who is eight years Jon's senior, was always within arm's reach. The young man seemed determined to act as Jon's kingsguard. For such a young age, he had no problem making such friends. 

Along with the two other boys: Grenn, who for some reason, reminded him of Hodor, before he lost his wits; a simple farm boy from the Gift. And Arnell, a young bastard boy from a Fossoway woman. While playful, they also seemed quite protective. It reminded him of his youngest brother, who was now all dressed in white instead of black. 

Benjen always had that innate gift. Bran knew which men to know and be friendly with while Ben never really cared about such things. Ben was always friendly to anyone and everyone who came his way. It was what made he and Lya inseparable. Jon had that easiness about him too, not even caring that Humfrey and Arnell are bastards; even after being explained what a bastard was. "Why does that matter?" So unrelenting in care, and enthusiastic as a boy can be.

The heir to Storm's End, Gendry, seemed to have that easiness as well. That was surprising as well. Here before him are the sons of both Rhaegar and Robert, yet they are as inseparable as Robert and him, when they were still boys.

 

**_Brandon_ **

They share a common love; his nephew and his brother. Warriors to their core. The one thing that always held his interest was not just histories of old, but also battle tactics and strategies. Jon had beamed and smiled brightly when he learned that he could now use a blunted tourney blade. 

Robb and Jon always tested their mettle. While Robb is strong and fast, Jon is graceful and quick. Robb has a somewhat stocky frame whereas Jon is slender as his blade. Both of them seemed to fight like Bran as well. Robb trying to get a strike in at every chance, and Jon moving as quick as wolf in each of his movements. Watching and waiting for the right time to strike. That was something that Bran did not do. 

Had he learned like their nephew; to watch, to wait, to listen, mayhaps he would still be here. Mayhaps he would be Lord of Winterfell and wed to Catelyn, who she had wanted and had deemed him a gallant knight of those sweet southron songs and dreams. Though, he cannot imagine a life without Cat now. Even now, he knew that his brother would not keep to Catelyn, and his gleaming grey eyes would look to something else. As always.

Yet, like his brother, he had dreams of glory. Not of tourneys, but to lead men into war. Bring honour and glory to the houses Stark and Targaryen. Honour most of all, a concept that was lost on his brother for the most part. Until his final foolhardy days. 

 

_**Lyanna** _

If there was one thing he loved and admired about his sister, it was her wild cackling laughter. That teasing grin on her lips. 

Robb had much of him, but also had much of Brandon in him. He had his easy smile and his booming laugh. It is nice to see his sister - his mother - in his nephew. How he tosses his head back as he laughs or how he puts his hands through his hair in frustration. And there is much of her within him. A love for horses and a innately natural talent for horse-riding. Even her sense of justice. 

Theon had been, at times, quarrelsome and troublesome. He and several others had decided to try to "beat some shape" into the shy and soft Samwell Tarly. Jon, normally calm and composed, displayed an uncharacteristic rage much like Lya. He imagined what Howland told him, when she saved his life from those squires. 

Jon had whacked the harassing party across the face with nothing but a stick. "They kept picking on Sam and he's my friend. What was I supposed to do? Just let them?"

Wolf's blood is as strong in him as it was in Lya. But just barely a touch of it addled him. 

 

**_Ned_ **

His nephew reminded Ned not a great deal of himself but there were times where it happened. He noticed how Jon would always be off to the side at feasts. Jon was sitting at the side looking so very distant and unwanted.

Whenever he saw his nephew like this he would feel like a veil of sorts was put over him, of sadness and loss. And he could tell half the time what he was thinking of, what he was feeling. It was what he had felt with Brandon at times. The envy, the worship, the pity, the comparisons, the annoyance. 

Robb had always been a loved child from birth, and from what he had heard, Prince Aegon is growing to be an accomplished young man. It was easy to love them as everyone wanted to be around them. Everything always at face value. 

There were few people that Ned Stark could deem as true friends. As his father once said, "we make our true friends on the battlefield". Mark Ryswell, had been his captain of guards for nearly five-and-ten years. Theo Wull making visits to Winterfell on occasion, even after donning a black cloak. Willam Dustin often jested when he came to visit with Ethan in tow. Though Howland rarely left Greywater, it made the scarce and rare visits all the more welcoming. Martyn Cassel had passed of old age nearly five years ago. 

Such an easiness that he didn't have the way Bran did. The easiness in being admired and adored as if he were sent by the gods. He was loved, of course, but he could and would never be Brandon and that was something he had cried himself to sleep thinking about, how his older brother would always come first and would always be the one everyone loved first - even by his wife, he had thought, too many times - and even when he was a man, it was always Brandon.

It wasn't Brandon's fault, not directly, but just his presence and existence and ability to be the best at everything. Brandon would always be first and Brandon was always there, hiding in the shadows of the conversations and it was always Brandon Ned thought of when he considered being better. As if Brandon was a God on earth and Ned was just his servant and right-hand commanded to do everything he said and do everything he did but worse.

Yet, somehow, he managed to earn his brother's ire at Harrenhal. For all his cockiness, he became irked when a pretty maiden had shown interest in him instead of Brandon. That woman with her haunting eyes, who told him that she liked him for the way he is and not for what he can be. And thus, he vowed that Lya's boy will never feel like that ever. Never feel as if he was an unwanted and unloved child, believing he should be like anybody else. How can he be when he is so easy to love?

 

_**Rhaegar** _

It was almost minuscule.

Thinking of Rhaegar made Ned feel odd and made his think a thousand things and him being Jon's father was probably the thousandth. Because Jon just wasn't at all like Rhaegar (it was every single day that Ned was thankful Jon had dark hair and eyes that were nothing near purple).

It felt almost laughable that he only inherited one skill that his father was noted for, and it surely wasn't his skill as a harpist. Gendry seemingly inherited the skill as well. The men and boys hung around them, listening to the sound of their voices. Soft as the wind and gentle as a light rain. 

_Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants,_

_so learn well the words of my song._

_For when I am gone the singing will fade,_

_and the silence shall last long and long_

For a brief moment, he had seen Rhaegar singing back at Harrenhal, driving Lya to tears with Jenny of Oldstones. Several maidens had tears streaming down their face, such as Sansa and Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel. Even Arya, who was nearly Lya reborn. There are times when he thought him like Rhaegar. He could faintly see the faint lines of dark indigo around his eyes, and his voice is akin to him with iron tones. But no, Jon would be Lya's boy. Only Lya.


	83. Amidst the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashara Dayne spends a lot of time at the Red Keep, ostensibly as a friend and support to the Queen, Elia, and her children. But somehow, Ashara always finds herself spending more time with and becoming more attached to the younger prince, who so strongly resembles the quiet Northerner that she'd once loved dearly.  
> Or - The five times Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall wished that the younger prince was the child she lost with the man she loved and the one time she truly was truly his mother

**_One_ **

She kept looking at the baby boy. It almost brought about the pain of her lost babe. But there was a sadness within her that couldn't be helped. 

The babe's eyes looked so much like him. The babe she lost, and the man she loved. This babe could just have easily been our babe. 

He then opened his eyes - those shining Stark grey eyes - that bore into her. The baby boy did nothing but simply stare, unperturbed. 

Such a quiet little wolf. 

 

**_Two_ **

It's strange watching him grow alongside his siblings. Surprisingly enough, Rhaenys takes to being his big sister at heart. They are the anomalies of Rhaegar's children: his eldest taking after her mother and his youngest taking after his mother. 

Most strangest thing was when the young prince decided he wanted to be called Jon. No one seemed to know just where he got this notion from. Yet, he always seemed to smile around Connington and the Lord Hand Jon Arryn. Who did he decide to take it from; his father's friend and confidante, or his father's trusted ally at this time. 

As of late, she felt herself grow more and more fonder of the boy. And Prince Jon returned that affection; often calling her "Auntie Ash". Elia had giggled when she heard the boy call her that. But she didn't mind in the least. 

Jon kept whooping loudly as his pony kept galloping practicing at the quintains. "Auntie Ash, Auntie Ash! Look at me!!"

Even though she did not mind the apparent nickname, it tore at her heart a bit. "Yes, I am. You're looking like a proper knight!"

Hopefully, you'll be the truest knight that ever lived, little wolf.

 

**_Three_ **

"You're only hurting yourself, you know," Elia says chastising her with her sweet and gentle voice like honey. 

"What do you mean?"

"I know you better than Arthur, and mayhaps even Oberyn. I know that you have suffered, and I know what you have lost. But Jon is not and cannot be your son," Elia said. But she felt a fire in the pits of her belly that she couldn't ignore. 

"That's easy for you to say, El. You have children of your own, and a husband. Even if he doesn't invite you to his bed, you still have someone. I'm still courted as if I were some jewel or prize to be attained. I know since his last visit that Robert Baratheon is likely thinking of sticking his cock in the crevices of my arsehole or sire his own bastard onto me.   
Yet, for a moment ... I could just picture ... envision ..."

Elia then gave her a tight hug, like a sister would. Or someone who knew, felt and understood the kind of pain and sadness she had experienced. 

"I hate myself and I hate Catelyn Tully. Gods, I want to hate that uppity whore so, so much El. With every fiber of my being," she said slumping. 

"I know. but we can't always get what we want. We must deal with the hand we are dealt with," Elia said curtly before leaving her chambers. 

Just as she was about to wander into the realm of dreams, she heard small scuffling. The guards had told her about it before and warned her. That someone had been wandering the corridors late at night. She opened the door and saw just who it was. The Winter Prince, Jon Targaryen. 

"Jon? Jon, what are you doing?"

"Auntie Ash? I-I can't sleep." 

"Tell you what. How bout I walk you back to your chambers and read you a story and took you into your furs?" Jon nodded and took her hand as she lead him back to his chambers. 

As they came to his chambers, Jon quickly jumped onto his bed while she grabbed a nearby book and started to read the princeling the tales of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. "You'll grow and become just like the Dragonknight, sweet prince. Just, righteous, and valorous. Though, you might be the Direknight rather than the Dragonknight."

She then saw that Jon was fast asleep, neatly snuggled into his furs. They should have told her long ago not to look at a Stark in the moonlight. Wolves are truly beautiful creatures. On some sort of instinct, she gently caressed his full cheek with her finger. 

In a different time, you could have been my child. And I would have loved you so just for being mine. 

 

**_Four_ **

It felt strange to be here in Winterfell. The place that she envisioned herself as its lady, when things were not brought in tragedy, grief and strife. It was certainly smaller than the Red Keep and undoubtedly bigger than Starfall, but looked powerful as it did ancient. She was brought with Prince Jon's party alongside his Kingsguard uncle Benjen and the Blackfish; though mayhaps he should be the Whitefish instead. 

Ned greeted them all formally and quite warmly. Jon all but cowered behind her leg as he tried to present himself. Such a shy boy, but sweet. "C'mon, Jon. It's alright. That's your uncle, Lord Eddard. Your Uncle Benjen told you of him," she said softly to him. 

Jon then puffed up his little chest and said, "Greetings, Lord Eddard. Lady Catelyn," He then gave a stern bow. Ned gave a wry chuckle to his nephew. "We all welcome you, my prince," Ned said while then charging forward and giving his nephew a massive bear-hug. 

She felt herself glower at her. Lady Catelyn Tully; practically glowing with her Stark livery. Stark grey dress. Grey-lined furs. The fiery-haired blue-eyed bitch then stared back at her; almost cowering at the sight. Let that be a reminder, Whore of Winterfell. Ashara understood politics enough, it was the drive and foundation of Westeros. And a large part of her wants to mock and taunt Catelyn Tully that was the only reason she ever married Ned; the earnest quiet wolf who wanted to earn his place in the world with her by his side. A man who may never have felt feelings of envy or bore ill-will toward his disgustingly stupid elder brother. 

But she was not here to mock and taunt Catelyn Tully. She was here for Jon. And not Ned, in spite of Elia's claims to not charm him. Though, it was a bit hard too. No longer was he the awkward youth of eight-and-ten who acted as he was not worthy to walk with her. Now, he was a stern lord in his own right, a fierce beard adorning his cheeks and jaw. Ruling the North efficiently, little lingering doubt armed or ailed him.

Yet, another pain was brought to her again. Seeing Ned and Jon grow close as a father and son rather than a uncle and nephew made her heart ache. Did Ned think him more a son than nephew? Did he wish that Jon was his son? 

Did he imagine that Jon could have been the son she would have borne for him?

The boy seemed to thrive with the smell and sounds of fresh pines and snow crunching beneath his feet. "SNOW!! Snowsnowsnowsnowsnow ..." Jon gleefully shouted as his boots kept stepping on it, grabbing and throwing it up in the air with the largest grin on his face. He had already befriended his cousin, Robb Stark the heir to WInterfell. At least she knew that he had some true friends rather than lickspittles looking to curry favour with him. But why would anyone want to curry favour with the spare heir? Because they can, because he's easier to get to. 

And she would not let anyone harm him. And she knew instinctively that Ned would not allow that to happen either. 

 

**_Five_ **

"You look like a proper little princeling now," she said as cheerily as she could. 

"A Targaryen princeling. I can't believe they're coming," Jon said a bit somberly. He had grown into quite a handsome lad. The youthful chubbiness of his face beginning to fade away. His chin more defined, his cheeks slightly narrowed. It was almost looking liked Ned. But Ned had said that Jon looks so much like his late sister. He must see something that I don't. 

"Jon, what were you expecting? That your father simply abandon you to the North?" Though from what she had seen before, Rhaegar did not spend a lot of time with his children. Especially Jon. Mayhaps he was seeing the ghost of his son's mother looming over him?

But she and Ned had ensured that Jon was not unloved. And Jon Arryn and even Robert Baratheon to an extent seemed to ensure that as well. Jon Arryn insisted to his lord nephew that his grandnephew Robin be sent to Winterfell and Robert and Stannis Baratheon had sent over their sons as well. And others had become his friends in sending their children to foster with Ned. Nearly all of them true and loyal companions. 

Robin Arryn supposedly took after his elderly lord granduncle. But his head was adorned with strawberry-blonde curls rather than simple straight blond hair. The boy even tried to model himself from what he knew about Jon Arryn. Prudent and quite clever for a boy his age and a calming presence to him with his easy dimpled smile and sky blue eyes.  
Gendry Baratheon was the very image of his father Robert yet was nothing like him. He had his father's looks, strength and charm but he held his head high with a true sense of confidence rather than the strutting swagger his father had. He also had a sense of focus and determination that was apparently like his uncle Stannis.   
His bastard brother Edmure Whent was more prone to scowling and smirking than smiling and looked quite sinister with his narrow cheeks and hooked nose. Cruel with a blade yet gentle of heart. The only way anyone could determine he was Robert's was by the same deep belly laugh he also shared with Gendry.   
Their cousin Gormon seemed to be a rarity among the Baratheons. Often placing his nose in a book alongside the sweet Samwell Tarly. Smart as a maester and looks more like a scribe rather than a proud warrior that the Baratheon's are famed for. But that did not mean he was to be trifled with; for the lad was quick and clever with a blade in hand. He was just not so enthused by combat like most boys his age or family are.   
Dareon Flowers, the infamous bastard of Prince Lewyn Martell. Fearless in the training yard, quick with a blade with a wit equally swift and sharp.   
Wallace Waynwood was shy with a stutter that made him more like a boy than a newly minted knight.  
Domeric Bolton soft of speech and gentle of heart. Born in the saddle with a song in his heart. Whenever he wasn't riding, hunting or fighting, the lad was off playing his harp as beautifully as Rhaegar would.   
Then there was Waymar Royce and Theon Greyjoy, the warded hostage. It was clear since his stupid father rebelled that he was a hostage, yet Ned treated him more like a ward than a hostage, even though that is what he is. Those two were a pair: slender, dark-haired and acting with a sense of entitlement and arrogance. Theon more than him; walking with a strut in his walk and smirk adorning his lips, as if there were a grand jape that only he knew. He seemed to think himself to be Robert Baratheon come again with the way he approached woman. He quickly learned his lesson after a failed attempt at propositioning her. A red hand across his face as well as a broken nose always allows a lesson to sink into the head. Yet, somehow, he came to view both Jon and Robb Stark as younger siblings and something of kindred spirits. 

Yet, Jon still bore a sense of sadness in his eyes. Does he truly believe that Rhaegar did not love him? King be damned, I'll smack him across his fool head. 

"Come and look at the mirror. I remember when you first came here. You were a shy little boy who quaked in his boots at the sight of his uncle. Remember how you thought him a giant?"

"Yes, I remember, Auntie Ash!" he said with a small giggle and smile. He looks better when he smiles. 

"It's been _years_ since you called me that! Now look at yourself. You are not the same boy you were. You are still a boy, but look closely and you'll see the man your lord uncle and everyone else in Winterfell sees. You have grown so, so much. And I know that your father will be proud of you. And if your mother were here, I know that she would be most proud of you too," she said, gently cupping his cheek. 

"Thank you, Lady Ashara"

"Oh, please. I sound so old when you call me that! Go back to calling me Auntie Ash!" she laughed. I wish I could call you son and for you to call me mother. But that will not ever happen. 

 

_**And One** _

She couldn't believe that war was on the horizon. A number of sellsword and sellsword companies flocked to Viserys' promise of lands, titles and riches beyond their wildest dreams. That daft boy. He truly was Aerys' get, more daft and foolish and mayhaps twice as crazed with his delusions of grandeur. 

Both the princes were more than prepared to take down their uncle. Though she could tell what was on both their minds. No man is as cursed as a kinslayer. But Viserys betrayed his kin, and was nothing to Rhaegar at this point. He was no longer the boy who begged Rhaegar to play with him, but the foolish deranged man-child who had clearly broken his elder brother's heart and threatened to bring despair to the kingdoms. 

Jon had come before the throne room, sternly bowing and vowing to bring Viserys to his knees alongside Aegon. He looked rather splendid in his armour. He bore night black plate armour with a white wolf with rubies in its eyes decorating the breastplate. He wore black ringmail underneath and his helm was decorated with pale white streamers reminiscent to a coming chilly winter breeze. 

Rhaenys had come to bid both her brothers good luck. She then came forward to Jon, making sure that he stood proud and straight. Old habits die hard. 

"Y-You come back now, you hear me? Don-Don't go off doing something stupid. You don't have to prove yourself to anything o-or anyone. You have already proven yourself to be a sple-splendid young warrior and m-m-man," she said, her throat choking back tears. 

"I won't. I promise," he smiled. It was calm and assuring. Suddenly, she found the courage to say what had been on her mind all these years. 

"Your mother would be so proud of you. And I know I am proud of you. I would have been very proud to have a son like you!"

"You do. No son has ever felt more love from a mother."

"And no mother had ever been more proud of a son!" she cried out, gripping him into the fiercest hug she had ever given him. "Stay safe, stay alive, you hear me?" she hoarsely whispered into his ear. 

"I will. I will, mother"


	84. Possessiveness (Ashara/Ned/Catelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She loves Ned with all her heart but she can't stand the stupid trout looking at him like her prey. So she lets her have a taste of him and his magical tongue. Starks are men of few words but cunning linguists.

She kept hearing it all through the night. The moans and groans of pleasure coming from the chambers of Lord Eddard and Lady Ashara. As it much as it annoyed her, it made her quite curious and envious as well. 

She knew what she would have to endure upon marriage, but she didn't think that Brandon would all but abandon their bed after two months of marriage. His gleaming grey eyes wandering about everywhere. At one point he seemed to display an interest in his brother's wife until Lord Eddard's eyes glared right at him and enduring a loud and public smack from Lady Ashara as well. It made her feel all the more unwanted. 

And for that alone, made it all the more easier to be envious of Eddard and Ashara. She wishes that she did not so easily dismiss Eddard - Ned, he insisted he be called - upon seeing him and Winterfell. She had been so stupid to have fallen for Brandon. It was there after she began to truly notice just how different and similar the two brother's are. Brandon is lantern-jawed and a broad muscular frame, whereas Ned's jaw is slightly more narrow and bearing a more leaner frame. She thought Brandon to be as noble as the knight in her dreams though he was little more than a roguish hedge knight. Ned Stark dutiful and honourable and more noble than his brother, and did not stray from his wife in any manner. 

As elegant as she thought Brandon was, he is rather rough-hewn than she judged Ned to be. He was certainly plainer compared to Brandon, but she had to admit that he is quite handsome. Brandon looked quite worse for wear when he did mar his face with a beard, and Ned looked a bit better clean-shaven, making his somewhat stern face look all the more youthful whenever he decided to rid himself of it. Which was a rather rare occasion. It was also evident in the company they kept. Everyone seemed to adore Brandon, sharing his jests and his smiles but that was as far as it would go. They tolerated him at best, making him think that he was the most loved man in all the North. Ned, however, seemed to have true companions in the latest man-arms Mark Ryswell, the uncouth yet cunning Theo Wull, the new lord Willam Dustin who had grown up with Brandon, even Brandon's squire Ethan Glover seemed to prefer Ned's companionship rather than his lord. 

"OOHHH, NEEEDD!!" she heard Ashara cry out. It used to fathom her just how or why Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, would agree to marry Ned Stark who she deemed so plain of face in an instant. A woman who had countless, thousands of suitors, chose a man, who according to Brandon, fumbled his words at the mere sight of a woman. Her reasoning echoed in her head even now; "His face may look to be made of stone to you, but it hides just how sweet and kind his heart and soul are". 

"DON'T STOP, MY SWEET WOLF LORD!!" Now, if only they, or at the very least she, could quiet whenever they decided to ... fuck. 

It seemed that everyone else in Winterfell shared her thoughts and sentiments regarding Lady Ashara Dayne. 

"She sounds as if Lord Ned was stabbing her to death the other night?!"  
"I didn't think she was the screaming type!"  
"Ya think she's alrigh' with the way she likely been ridin' Lord Eddard like a sand steed?"

What seemed to pain her the most was how Ashara seemed to take it in stride. Like she did not care for their quibbling and squabbling; she stood high and proud above it all. That somehow, she had easily won over the entire household whereas they continued to treat her as if she was still a pampered sot. While she was still not used to the North, she had been trying to understand and become more of a northwoman. It seemed so miraculously easy for the dornishwoman. But then again, Ned had been actively helping her, whereas Brandon paid her little to no mind unless there were no other woman who would raise her portcullis for him. The dutiful pair of legs he could crawl back into whenever he was bored. And the only times he would try to seek her pleasure was in trying to get a strong heir in her. 

It hadn't been long when Ashara had announced her own pregnancy. While Brandon had publicly congratulated his brother, in private he had been seething in jealousy and awe of his brother. Going as far to blame her for not being filled with a litter of babes. Granted, it had been only two months but the fact that he blamed her made her so wroth with anger that she shocked him and herself.

"Oh, yes, Brandon. It's all my fault. It's my fault that you don't have a wife glowing with child for not getting down on my knees to suck your cock like all the whores in Wintertown do. Or plead for you to shove it in my arsehole. Yes, Brandon, it's all my fault because I barely give you ample time to fuck me whenever you see fit. Or mayhaps, if you stopped spreading your seed throughout every woman who is willing to spread their legs WIDE OPEN for you! I am so, so sorry!"

She had been so wroth that night she needed to calm herself down. As she headed to the kitchens, she heard something. As she then looked, she saw the most unusual thing ever. Ned having Ashara over a kitchen counter, her legs curling around his neck. Catelyn quickly took note that Ashara's breasts and chest had been trailed with some sort of cream. Ashara kept moaning and hooking her legs around Ned, bringing him more closer to her. 

"My lady. I'm not sure which creme is sweeter," Ned said as he gave a rather large and long lick off her cunt. 

"O-o-ohhh. Don't, don't stop, Ned!!"

Do they have any decency?! And in the kitchens, seriously?! Yet, she couldn't help but take not on not only Ned's but Ashara's eagerness as well. Both of them panting like animals in heat. Suddenly, Ashara seemed to take note that she was there, watching them. She stared at her, her eyes almost mocking her. But she quickly paid her no mind and closed her eyes and continued to moan in pleasure. 

A week had passed since she saw them in the kitchens. And she couldn't get that image out of her head. Was that what actual pleasure was like? Brandon never pleasured her like that once. Not even when he had delightfully taken her maidenhead and addressed his cock as a "bloody sword" as it was doused in her maiden's blood.  
"O-OH, YES! LI-LI-LICK IT AGAIN, NED!!'  
What on earth could he be licking now? 

* * *

She's jealous. She knows it to be true. The way that she stared at them. She wants what she can't have. 

Dornishwoman maybe considered lewd but they were not stupid. Not like all these northerners. Everyone above the Dornish marches were all northerners to her. Easy words and smiles from anyone and they would drop their smallclothes for any knight or lord that came their way. Heirs to houses large and small were very much the same. And Catelyn Tully and Brandon Stark were no different. 

Ashara still recalled how Brandon all but offered himself at the Tourney at Harrenhal, and again once she came to Winterfell as Ned's wife. Is he the heir of Winterfell, or the Dunderhead of the North? She's seen men like him numerous times, bragging about themselves as if they were the most important person in the world. That made it all the more easier to accept Ned's proposal of marriage, in front of Harrenhal's rather scary-looking weirwood tree. 

Ned didn't need any sort of "charm" that Brandon oozed out. She loved everything about him. But the things that enchanted her the most were his smile and his eyes. Beautiful stormy grey eyes that could turn soft as fog or hard as stone. He is so gentle and honest and with the sweetest heart she has ever known, beneath his stoic quietude. And she will love whatever children they have, for they will have a part of their father in them. She almost feels sorry for Catelyn Tully for bearing any child of Brandon's. 

Yet, that also made her feel strangely jealous as well. She was certainly a pretty young lass. Closer of an age to her husband, neatly flowing auburn hair and a very ample chest. What would stop her from using her own feminine wiles to seduce her own husband? She and Ned seem to get along now, for all she knew, she could end up taking her husband for one night and passing off any child she has as Brandon's, with both of them none the wiser. So, she boldly decides to tell him.

"You want what?" Ned asks, and Ashara hides her smile.

"Ned, you know perfectly well what I said," Ashara says, making her voice teasing.

Her husband looks quite uncomfortable, especially since they had just finished their own adventure in their bedchamber. "You want to take someone into your bed," he replies, voice even.

" _Our_ bed, Ned. I want to take someone into our bed."

His face drains immediately, and this time, Ashara cannot stop the giggle that rises in her throat. "Why?" he finally asks. She notices that he hasn't said no yet.

"Ash, you're going to have a child. W-We've had quite adventurous times if I do say so myself. And now it is not enough? Am I not good enough? Why do you need to seek your pleasure elsewhere?"

Suddenly, she knows why he looks so upset. "Oh, Ned," she says, and she lays a hand on his arm, "I'm not dissatisfied with _you_. Especially with that silver tongue of yours. On the contrary, I find that this can be pleasurable for the both of us. Many dornishmen swore that the experience made them more passionate lovers."

Ned makes a choking noise, "I don't even want to think on that, Ash."

She pulls him closer until he sits next to her on the cushions. "Ned ," she croons, and moves so quickly that he doesn't even have time to blink. Within a moment, Ashara's lips are on his and she is straddling him against the pillows on the featherbed.

When they break apart, Ned is breathing hard, and Ashara can feel his hardness pressed into her.

"Imagine," Ashara says, her breath hot in his ear, "two women, standing over you, touching you, kissing you," and she trails her hand down to undo his tunic. "Fucking you," she whispers, and finally, Ned relents under her.

"All right then. But who are you going to get to join us both in this venture? You're bound to get more looks from the the maids and guards."

It was sweet that he was concerned for her and the apparent reputation they had been getting as "deviants", but she didn't mind. They were no different than anyone at court aching for a morsel of gossip.

The truth is, Ashara doesn't know if she really should. The thought of someone in her bed does excite her, but she knows her reasons. She wants to present another beautiful woman before her husband and say, _See? You've shared yourself with another woman, and you are still in love with your wife._

She wants to know if he can be with her, and with someone else, yet stay devoted. Stay true to his wife Ashara Dayne, and not his brother's wife Catelyn Tully. It is a test, and she does hate testing her husband without his knowledge. But she needs to know if he loves her truly, or if his love is a product of their physicality, their intimacy in and out of the bedchambers.

"I can handle the guards and maids. Let them go on prattling like fishwives. As for who ... I already have an inkling of an idea as to who will join us."

* * *

She found it strange that Ashara Dayne invited her for a chat. She was not exactly cordial with her, but she had easily dismissed her when she came to Winterfell. And I do so need a friend. Brandon's constant coming and goings had made her feel so lonely as of late. 

"So, Catelyn. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you for asking. Might I ask, how is it that you do not miss your home?"

"And what makes you think I don't? I do miss the heat of the Dornish sun but the hot springs in the castle have become my favourite place as of late. Even the godswood."

"The godswood?"

"Yes. Starfall actually has a small one, and it's weirwood heart tree is nowhere near as large or haunting as Winterfell's. I'm certain Riverrun's heart tree is impressive in its own right"

Clever, she is. "Yes, it's quite impressive. But more saddening then melancholic than the one in Winterfell." 

"I'll cut to the chase Lady Tully. I know what you want. And don't you lie to me, my lady. I've seen the way you have been looking at my husband." 

Catelyn felt a massive blush come to her face. Had she been painfully obvious about her growing attraction to Ned? 

"I think I have a way to relieve you of your affliction," she said with a smirk adorning her lips. I don't like the look of it. 

* * *

The moment that Ashara brought in Brandon's wife Catelyn, he felt everything in his body tighten. Ash, just what are you thinking?!

"Worry not, lord husband. Lady Catelyn has actually had such an idea in her head for quite some time." Ashara said, flashing a rather devious smile. 

Even if Catelyn somehow agreed to this, there was one thing on his mind. 

"But what abou - "

"Lord Brandon went off hunting and from what the guards had told me, he won't be back for quite some time. He'd never have to know. And why should he get all the fun, Ned?"

Catelyn looked somewhat uncomfortable to say the least. 

"My lady, if yo - "

"It's quite alright, my lord. Lady Ashara had in no way coerced me. And ... the idea does ... excite me a bit" Catelyn said with a faint smile upon her lips. 

Ash then came to him and kissed him sweetly on the lips then peppering his neck with them. She then whispered something to Catelyn, causing her to briefly walk toward him and place a somewhat clumsy kiss to his lips. Their teeth had clashed a bit, likely due to nervousness, but it was sweet nonetheless. Her mouth tasted oddly enough like mint. As Catelyn continued the kiss, deepening it, Ashara stood behind her undressing herself; ridding herself from her dress to her smallclothes, leaving herself completely bare. She then approached Catelyn from behind, slowly undressing her. Catelyn's already blushing face turned a thousand shades of red as she realized what Ashara was doing. 

Catelyn uneasily removed her smallclothes, and gave him a look that spoke of a mischievousness she kept hidden. A faint spark in those bright blue eyes of hers. Ned couldn't help but admire their bodies as Ashara wrapped her arms around his neck and Catelyn came following her lead. Both of them soft and supple as he felt someone's hands loosening his britches. Ash then pushed him to their bed and began to pepper him with kisses once again, then grabbed Catelyn by her hand to drag her along as well. 

Ashara then gently rubbed Catelyn's breasts, kneading them while she kissed by her lips then her neck; whispering something to her ear again. Catelyn then looked as docile as a kitten as she began to kiss him; having her tongue dance all around his mouth. She then placed herself atop of his chest, looking a bit unsteady until he placed her his hands on her hips. 

"You know just where she goes. Come now, Ned, show her!" Ashara teased. Ned gently rested Catelyn on his cock, to which she let out a small whimper. The pace started slow and became a bit faster as she steadied herself on his chest. Suddenly, Ashara placed her pink buds by his mouth, leaving him little time to comprehend the situation. Ashara steadied herself by grabbing the bedpost as he begin to swirl and move his tongue all around her sex. Both of their moans were like a cacophonous melody. 

Just as he felt himself come close to release, Ashara removed herself from him. "Wait, don't you think she ought to have a taste of your magnificent tongue, husband?" she said deviously. Catelyn no longer seemed demure but boldly removed herself from him and seemed to falter diligently at being bedded properly by him. He wasted little time as he entered her sex; Catelyn released yet another melodious moan. Ashara then placed herself above Catelyn's mouth, to which Catelyn seemed to comply eagerly. 

"Haha - aahh. All you trouts are so tricky. Making me as moist as the rivers you roam!!" Ashara groaned, as Catelyn licked her cunt. He then felt Catelyn's nails scraping along his backside, urging him to move inside her faster. Suddenly, Ashara removed herself once again, whispering something to Catelyn. 

"It's time you ravage our sweet southron maiden, my love. Take her. Take her like you took me the other night. Take her like a wolf takes a bitch!" Ashara said deviously. Ashara laid down on the bed gently, as she coaxed Catelyn to come back and keep licking her. Just as she did, Ashara gave him a wink to signal him. He then stood behind Catelyn, grabbing her by her hips and placed himself inside her once again. Catelyn's moan was now wild. "OHH!! OOOH!! THAT FEELS GOOD!!"

He paced himself slowly as Catelyn began to arch her back a bit as he plunged her tongue in Ashara. As he thrust into her, he then placed his fingers by her sex and began to rub around it, making her whimper even more. Though barely audible, he could feel her chest rumbling. Suddenly, he felt her body completely spasm as he spilt his seed inside of her. He then removed himself from her and Ashara did as well. All of them sweaty and smelt of sex. 

Once again, Ashara whispered something to Catelyn. Suddenly, she got up from the bed and took her clothes and proceeded to redress herself. But just before, she quickly gave him a small kiss. It left him wondering a bit. Just a bit ...


	85. The Wild Things (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free folk and kneelers are more like than not. Men are men and women women, no matter which side of the Wall we were born on. Good men and bad, heroes and villains, men of honor, liars, cravens, brutes ... we have plenty, as do you.

"So, tell me about this King-Beyond-the-Wall, Ned"

"He was once a wildling before joining the Watch. A Night's Watchman had found him as a babe, and from then on, the Night's Watch had raised and cared for him. Ser Denys Mallister had sent him on a ranging and shortly after returning, he defected and betrayed them"

"Now, the traitorous whoreson now leads an army of wildlings?" 

"Aye. And the Night's Watch won't be enough to hold them back now." The Night's Watch is now a shadow of its former self. Brigands, rapers, and anyone who felt like an outsider had joined the fleeting army of black brothers. 

It suddenly made him think of Jon. Where could he have gone? Did he join the Golden Company with the other exiled lords hoping to earn glory? Is he roaming the Seven Kingdoms as a hedge knight of sorts? He refused to believe that he was dead and gone from the world. 

"Just how many savages is he leading?"

"From what my brother Ben told me, over a hundred thousand at last count"

"A hundred thousand savages? How the hell did that happen?"

"Mance Rayder had always been a cunning man. And that makes him all the more dangerous for being a deserter. He abandoned the men he called brothers who cared for him and told the wildlings every thing he knows of the Watch. And the Night's Watch is nothing but a shade for what it once was. Robert, I know you want and need me down in the south, but my people need me more than ever now."

There was one thing he could surely count on in getting Robert's support for all this; his innate love of battle. He may no longer be as fit as he was during his rebellion but he could still fight as well as any man. 

"If I get the chance to crush some skulls like I used to, then I'll help you with this Ned!" Robert said with that booming laugh of his. 

"Good. Because winter is coming"

* * *

"So, whatcha think? We have a chance, my wolf?" Val said as she snuggled herself closer in their furs. He never knew such warmth and closeness. 

"We certainly have the numbers and are more disciplined than before ... but I can't say for certain" he said. There had been wildling kings before who had been slain by either the Night's Watch or the Stark of Winterfell. 

"And why not, Jon?" Val asked with an impertinent look on her face. 

"We may not be enough. The people of the North have heard of our movements, from what Del and Orell had told me. If my father is successful in convincing the king, he might have more forces from the south."

"You southrons and your titles! "Ooh, save me my good Ser Jon Snow! And let me shower you with many, many kisses!"" Val said mockingly. 

"I'd like to take you up on that offer. If you are actually offering?" 

Val then gave him a rather cheeky grin and gave him a chaste kiss which he wanted to last forever. But winter is coming. Winter will come for them all. 

* * *

The Wall was a magnificent sight. Mayhaps the Black Brothers enjoy this sight as some sort of comfort? 

But right now was not time to dwell on that. Right now, he needed to focus on the wildlings. 

He was not expecting a lot of support but Robert managed to bring in some fairly interested individuals. He brought the Kingsguard, and some rather young knights interested in gaining glory in this endeavor. Thought it was probably best that Robert not bring them. These knights, the whole lot of them smelled of summer, and this is the land of winter that they were going to fight in. 

Robert's brother Renly seemed to treat the endeavor like a jape, even though he was clearly no warrior. He seemed to think he was like Robert reborn; but just because he looked like him when he was a lad didn't mean that he was like him exactly. Loras Tyrell was more or less the same, thinking it some kind of game. Lancel Lannister desperately tried to act like a man. Guyard Morrigen fancied himself singing of the great battle to come alongside Ser Parmen Crane and Ser Emmon Rhysling. Imry Florent was worse than his more knightly cousin Erren but their uncle Axell was the worst of the foxes. Waymar Royce behaved with a sense of entitlement because his brother Robar joined the Night's Watch a year past. 

Worst of all had been Robert's son Joffrey. Robert had insisted on bringing him along to turn him into more of a man. He certainly thought himself as a man grown for a boy of barely two-and-ten namedays. Swinging his new pretty blade and prattling on and on about his prowess, as if he were the Kingslayer reborn. The Kingslayer himself actually makes better company. And to think he all but agreed to betroth Sansa to him!

He had talked strategy with Robert along with the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and the commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea: Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke. Robb and Theon had taken an instant liking to them. He had been apprehensive about bringing them, but Robb insisted as he was his heir and that the concerns of the Night's Watch were also his concern. Theon, like many of the southron knights, had wanted glory but also wanted to prove himself as well. 

The squires that Jeor had appointed for him were slightly better company, and it did them all well to learn how to fight properly. Pypar, or Pyp as he preferred to be called, had been a mummer prior to joining the Watch. He likely angered someone with all the japes he makes. Halder had been a simple stonemason's apprentice before coming to the Wall. Jeren was a bastard son of a wandering septon. Halder was quite tall, strong and muscular for a boy his age, if not easy to anticipate his movements. Jeren's skill was steadily improving and not as weak as before. Pyp's sword skills were definitely improving as he no longer held the blade like he would a dagger. He was quicker than before, but still afraid of being hit. 

The Wall was no place for a lad like Samwell Tarly. He was surely a child of summer. He's more suited to be a maester than a black brother. The Wall was no place for a lady like Brienne of Tarth as well, but not for the reasons she may think. While she was a skilled warrior in her own right and held an earnestness to prove herself, she lacks experience. The boy was far too craven to be a warrior. Though Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard seemed to like him. He did wonder just how men like Meryn Trant and Boros Blout ended up in the Kingsguard. 

GreatJon Umber seemed to approach this quite enthusiastically alongside his son SmallJon and his own uncle, Mors. Maege and her two eldest daughters, Dacey and Alysane looked fearsome in their boiled leather armour. Rickard Karstark's young sons Torr and Edd seemed ecstatic to fight. The Manderly brothers approached this matter as cautiously as he did. He felt all the more apprehensive toward Roose and his bastard son. The both of them unnerved him, he couldn't tell just what it was about them. 

"The wildlings no nothing of strategy. They'll just charge at us like they've always done!" Wendel Manderly exclaimed. 

"Mance Rayder was wildling-born and the Watch taught him much, my lord. That includes strategy. A crow is a rather tricky bird," Roose Bolton calmly exclaimed. 

"Call him what you want. Mance Rayder's a traitor. No matter what pretty cloak he decides to put on!" GreatJon said. 

"The rangers have naught to tell us other than the wildlings growth in number. We haven't an idea as to when they'll strike!" Maege exclaimed. 

"Those goatfuckers could strike the Wall at any time. And what is that stupid southron think he calls training? I could show him my chamberpot and call it training! I could train a horse better than he does!" GreatJon bellowed. 

Suddenly, they heard a great burst of something. They then left the chambers and headed off to the top of the Wall. A great big flame had suddenly burst forth. Suddenly, yells had followed the roaring blaze. A massive horde of men began to move around them. 

* * *

It was perfect. Though, they hadn't received Mance's signal. He knew that he had snuck into the Wall itself. I wonder just where he could be? 

"These people truly have become our people, haven't they?" Dom said. 

"That they have Dom. That they have," Jon said as he then put his helm on. He felt not only like a true warrior but a real man. Grenn then approached him along with Del, Grigg the Goat, Toregg the Tall, Longspear Ryk, and Quort.

"It's time we show these southron fuckers what for!" they shouted. 

Jon then faced the wildlings. "These are our lands as much as theirs. Now, why don't we show them?" he shouted. They shouted back in reply. 

"WHO OWNS THE NORTH?! WHO OWNS THE NORTH?!"

"WE DO!!"

"THEN LETS SHOW THEM!!"

* * *

How in the hell had Mance Rayder gather all these wildlings together? 

Good men were dying left to right. Well, most of the men he lead into battle were not exactly good but fighting for a good cause. Renly Baratheon's japes had earned him nothing and Lancel Lannister's failed bravado had done the same. Not only had many able-bodied young men died but also several kingsguard members. Boros Blout's belly was split open by a wildling's sword and an axe had been buried deep into Meryn Trant's head. Preston Greenfield had been torn apart limb by limb and Mandon Moore had a spear shoved from the back of his head. The Boltons were lost in the mess. Rickard and Torrhen Karstark lost within seconds of each other's deaths. 

As much as Robert proved himself a warrior again and Ser Barristan had cut down many, he knew that they couldn't handle that many wildlings. He had forced them all to make a hasty retreat back to Castle Black. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Ned! I could have killed all those goat fuckers all the livelong day!":

"That doesn't matter, Robert! We lead unarmed boys into a battle. We need more men, Robert. Actual men who know of battles and war other than tourneys. We need aid from Stannis, or the Royces or so - "

"Hold on, my lord! Where are the boys? And Jaime? The prince?" Ser Barristan said. 

They had retreated quickly that they hadn't even noticed if the others had kept up with them. Robb? Theon? No. No, not again. Nonononono ... 

"MY LORD! Please, calm down!" Mormont and Mallister said as they held him down. How was Robert so calm? His son was nowhere in sight either. Does he hate his own blood so? 

"Yes, please calm down, my lords" said the ... bard ... that had ... accompanied them. 

"You traitorous son of a whore!" Denys Mallister growled. It was then he remembered. He had come to his home once with the previous Lord Commander Petyr Qorgyle. 

"Some might take offend to that, good ser. Plenty of your crows were likely sons of whores and the like," Mance Rayder said with a smile. He then eyed the knights who had been left behind. Samwell Tarly and Arys Oakheart had been bound and gagged along with several young Night's Watch recruits. There were plenty of corpses of Night's Watch recruits and men alike.

Robert senselessly charged only for a stocky man with a snow-white beard to knock him down with a quarterstaff no less. 

"So, this is your southron king? He's as soft as that baby crow we captured! HAR!" 

"Shut your mouth you fucking shit!" Robert roared. 

"Best be careful now, my king. I have my prince holding your own captive." Mance said. 

"Prince? Since when did you grant any man a title? Let alone your own child?" Denys questioned while Jeor leered at him. 

"I said that he was my prince. I never said that he was mine own. But in truth, I'd love him as he were mine own. And speaking of kin, he has yours as well, Stark. Best not cut me throat unless you want you and yours to be buried in the snow."

He had never felt such a cold fury in his life. But if Robb and Theon's lives were in peril ... 

"We ... surrender ..." 

Just then, a loud horn had been sounded. Mance then shouted a command for the gate to be opened and the sound of the gates hinges brought him a sense of despair. A small group of riders had entered along with a small party of men that had been bound. One of the riders seemed to bear a certain familiarity with his bronzed wolf-shaped helm as he brought in Theon and Robb, gently nudging them aside. 

"Father!"  
"Lord Stark!" 

"Are you two alright?" he said as he approached them. The rider with the wolf's helm then seemed to look at him. Judging him. Suddenly, he took note of one of the captives who was suddenly tossed on the floor. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. He looked ... defeated as if it had been for the first time. But the sight he saw after explained it away; his swordhand worn around his neck like some sort of charm. He was muttering nonsense. 

"You seriously maimed the Kingslayer now, haven't you?" Robert said somewhat darkly. With the way he spoke of the Lannisters, it almost made him sound like he cared for him. 

"We were told to keep him alive. But if ya get yer hand cut off, yer still alive then aren't ya?" said one of the riders, who was thick of neck with mousy-brown hair. He almost reminded him of Hodor. 

Robert then laughed quite heartily but his face then turned serious again. "Where's my son?" All of them looked around each other. One of the riders - who he realized was a woman - then tossed out a bag. Within it, fell out the head of Prince Joffrey Baratheon. The boy was clearly frightened in his last moments. A different rider with a long blond braid then smiled as he held up the prince's ornate crossbow. 

"H-H-How?" Robert choked out. He almost looked saddened by it. Almost. 

"Little shit kept whining and screaming his arse off for us to stand still for he ... was ... the prince!!" the man roared out mockingly then laughed. 

Just as Robert seemed like he was going to do something, Mance Rayder approached the helmed rider. "My prince" he said. 

Suddenly, the rider leapt off his horse and removed his helm. He ... couldn't believe it. His dark curls had grown longer. He was still rather skinny - no, not skinny, lithe. And his grey pools shimmered like molten silver. Like Lya's. Like mine. 

"Lord Stark. We have much to discuss."


	86. Manhood (Theon/Cersei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing more sweeter  
> (American Pie inspired-parody)

She is so undeniably hot. This could not be better. Not only fucking an insanely beautiful woman, but _Joffrey's mom_ to boot. 

This may have been the greatest and ultimate revenge on that blonde-haired fuck. He couldn't believe that such a beauty created that blonde abomination. 

Gods, she is really milking me for all I'm worth! Sex in a car was always hot. If there was anything he loved, it was a hot chick riding on his dick. And she's riding me as if she were born in the saddle. God!! Ride me like a pommel horse!!

"Ooohhh. Cersei. Cersei."

The way her golden locks drop down and practically cover her round perky tits ... it truly makes her look like a goddess. God, those tits!! Still so firm after all this time. The epitome of a MILF!!

"Call me Joffrey's mom!!" she groaned. Suddenly, she grabbed onto that handle of the passenger door and began to rid ... oh dear fucking god ...

Faster and faster. Gods, she's insatiable!! 

Her face suddenly looks determined. She wants this! She wants me to ... oh, no. Oh, by every god in every heaven! Oh ...

**_"OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH, JOOOOFFFRRREEEEYYY'S MMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!"_ **


	87. Unforeseen (Jon/Alys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Alys Karstark are both in love with each other but both think their love is unrequited. Alys believes that Jon only likes athletic women, so she tries to learn a sport to impress him. Jon believes that Alys only likes sweet-talking, romantic men, so he tries to pick flowers for her and practices his love talk.

Dany and Sansa giggled together as they sat in at the benches. The two girls had been talking about boys and clothing all day. "What do you think about Gendry?" Dany asked the young red haired girl.

"He's oh so very handsome and so _fit_ " She replied with a sigh. Dany knew that Sansa had a major crush on Gendry, but she was afraid his feelings weren't the same way. Gendry was always sweet and caring but he never showed any romantic emotions to any one girl in King's Landing Academy. "What about Jojen?" Sansa asked.

"I just see him as my little brother, y'know what I mean?" She said.

"I understand" Sansa said with a smile. "But he is cute" The girls giggled. 

Suddenly, they took note of Alys sighing forlornly and watching at something which made her look all the more sadder.

"Alys, what's wrong?" Sansa asked. 

"Huh? Oh, it's uh, it's nothing," she sighed, looking dreary. Like someone had kicked her dog to death in front of her. 

"That's not nothing. That's the power of love written all over your face!!" Dany exclaimed. Sansa then took note how Alys's cheeks now began to be faint with a blush of red. 

"N-N-No i-it's not!!"

"OMG!! You're in love with someone, aren't you?? Who is it??" Sansa said with her eyes gleaming. 

"I-It's no one. And ... not possible ..." Alys said. 

"It's not Loras Tyrell now, is it? Cuz everyone, including the teachers, know about his sexuality. His clothes are as bright as Christmas!" Dany said. 

"He wouldn't notice me. Maybe if I joined a sports team ... or put on a skimpy cheerleader outfit like you guys" Alys said dejectedly. 

"Well, it certainly helps. But c'mon now, who is it??" Dany asked. 

"I'm a bit embarrassed to say." Alys said. 

"Why? Is it someone we know? Is it some ... relative of ours?" Dany asked, now noticing that Alys was trying not to look at Sansa. 

"O-Oh. OH! Alys, sorry but Robb and Marg are my OTP! I cannot allow you to break them up!" 

"IT'S JON!" Alys nearly screamed out. She quickly covered her mouth. 

"Jon? Jon as in my brother Jon?" Sansa asked all hushed up. 

"Uhh, um, yeah. I've been crushing on him since we both started high school. ... He's so dreamy ..." Alys said, the blush returning to her cheeks. It made her look all the more sweet. 

"Oooh, Alys in love! Waitaminute, why do you think that love between you and my brother is impossible?" Sansa asked. It wasn't anything against Jon, but she was curious nonetheless as he was her brother; Robb's younger twin by a minute. Jon was always a bit more serious than Robb and at times, came across as cold, but he was the warmest person she knew after her own father. 

"He wouldn't notice me even if I got a really pimped out dress. He likes sporty athletic girls," Alys sighed. 

"Hold on now, that's not true." Dany said. "He and I went out a couple of times"

"Cheerleader." Alys pointed out. 

"OK. I guess that's a tiny bit true. But what abou - "

"He went out with Ygritte; she's on the cross country team."

"Alright. But there's als - "

"Val. She's the cross country team _captain_."

"If you could stop interrupti - "

"Dacey Mormont. And her sister Lyra. Both of them on the wrestling team! Wylla Manderly; rowing team. Her sister Wynafryd, on the cheerleading squad with you. Arianne Martell was the cheerleading captain before she graduated. Nymeria Sand was on the fencing team. Let's face it; we're not destined for one another ..."

"Maybe you could join the cheerleading squad with us? There is a spot open up and you can fill it?" Dany said. 

"I'm not cut out for it. I'm not exactly a bombshell like you and Sans. And I'm as coordinated as horse on roids" 

"Alys ..." 

"Just look at him there. Lacrosse team captain. Fencing. Track and field. I'm nothing ..."

"Well, maybe you can learn a sport or two ..." Dany suggested. 

* * *

"Thinking about her again Jon?" Robb said, as they continued with their laps. 

"It's hard not to. She's beautiful ..."

"Then ask her out, man!"

"Have you seen the guys she went out with?"

"Ohh, c'mon, man. You've got a shot! What do they have that you don't?" Gendry asked. 

"Bigger muscles. And all the charm in the world."

"Come off it now!" Grenn exclaimed. 

"Daryn Hornwood- the somewhat cheap version of Professor Lannister's distinguished military brother. Then there was SmallJon Umber, who let's face it, could squash me like a grape. And, Satin, didn't she go out with you out of pity or something?"

"OY! That was before my coming out party, and you know it!" 'Satin' exclaimed. 

"And didn't she go out with Theon at one point?"

"It was a pity date. I didn't even get a blowjob or anything!" Theon said before getting shot with Jon's infamous "Death Glare"

"C'mon, Jon. It's not like you're Prince Charmless. You had girlfriends before. How did you get them anyways?" Theon asked, seemingly perplexed. 

"Strangely enough, honesty and dumb luck. Hell, that was the reason Val and Ygritte liked me so much. I need to up my game!"

"Well, maybe you can ask Edd for points in charming the ladies?" Grenn jokingly asked. Suddenly, Jon's downtrodden face changed and he ran off. 

"Did he know that you were joking?" Robb asked. 

* * *

_Alright then, don't act like an idiot. Just remember what Edd told you._

_**"Ladies love flowers. Roses 'specially."** _  
_**"Stand straight and tall, less she mistake you for stone"** _  
_**"Always think on what you wanna say. But don't always."** _

The last part didn't make much sense to him. But that doesn't matter right now. 

Sansa had told him that Alys was hanging around the school's gymnasium. OK. Don't screw this up, Jon. You're wearing your best suit. You've neatened your hair for possibly the first time in your life. And spent $38.50 on the biggest bouquet of roses. I probably shouldn't have worn my suit then if I'm going to meet a girl at a gym. 

He then saw her. Alys had her curly tumbling brown hair tied into a somewhat messy bun, wearing an all white tennis outfit. Her form was alright but her swings were a bit wild and uncoordinated, focusing more on power rather than accuracy. Don't think sports, think about Alys: think romantic. 

"Alys?"

"Jon? OW!" she cried out as the tennis ball came back and struck her in the face. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sansa told me that the tennis team has an open spot and I've been practicing. Which is a good thing, because I've been outta practice since I was seven. I didn't even know we had a tennis team!" 

"Yeah, not the most popular sport lately. And you're not so out of practice. Your strikes are as swift as a stag."

"Um, thanks?  Anyways, what are you doing in a suit?" 

Don't answer that. Divert it. "First off, these are for you!" he said ceremoniously giving her the flowers. 

"Ohh, thank you Jon," Alys said as she then took a whiff of them. "They're absolutely lovely"

"Also, I'd like to say that your beauty holds no bounds. Your beauty is nothing compared to the flowers you now bear in your hand"

"Oh. Uh, um, thanks, I guess? Still, you hadn't really answered my question."

"Right. I'm here to take you out on a rather lovely dinner date, if you please?"

"Oh, Jon ... Thank you, but I'm way too under-dressed for that sort of occasion. Right now, I'm more suited for ... McDonalds or something like that. Actually, I do have a rather large hankering for fries right about now!" 

"Oh, OK. Mind if I ask you something? Why are you trying out for tennis anyways?" 

"Don't think I'm the sporty type now?"

"No, not at all. Just that I know that you're in Yearbook, A/V, and Jazz Club. You didn't seem to take an interest in the "sporty" clubs."

"Honestly, I was never all that good at most sports. Swimming; I could totally do that. Not sure about the synchronized part though. Hell, if there was a paintball team, I would dominate everyone around!"

"I'm certain you would!" Jon laughed. "Hold on for a second. I'll be back in like two minutes:"

Jon then went to his locker and got out a plain white shirt and a pair of grey-coloured jeans. "If you'd like, I can show you some pointers in how to handle that racket of yous. And ... maybe ... go to McDonalds right after?" 

Alys then began to blush madly. "O-okay"

* * *

The both of them had touched one another rampantly. Their arms and hands almost entwining themselves as they lost themselves in each other's touch and embrace. 

"I got to admit something. I thought that you love sporty athletic girls. That's why I was practicing my swing."

"Alright then, I gotta admit something. All that weirdly intense mushy stuff I said. I thought you'd like some mushy love poems, stuff like that. And I spent half of my day with Edd to learn to ... flirt properly."

"You spent half of an entire day with Dolorous Edd? To learn about flirting?" Alys giggled. 

"I wasn't that bad. ... Was I?"

"Tiny bit over the top. But nice," she said as they resumed their kissing. 

"So, wanna get back to the lesson? Or ... go to McDonalds?"

"The fries can wait"


	88. Born Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned sees the ghosts of his family in all his children.

**_Rickard_ **

His first-born son is by no means a wild child. Reckless and far too bold at times for his own sake. Cat claims that Robb seems to resemble her baby brother. He had only met Edmure once just after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Robb did not have his beard but there was no doubt in his Tully looks that they bore a certain semblance to one another. If anything, in his opinion, Robb may resemble a young Hoster or a younger and more impudent Blackfish.

There were times, when he saw the wold's blood about in Robb, that he reminded him of Brandon. In everything else, his boy reminded him so much of his father. Standing tall and proud and straight. A certain dignity carried about him. He had scarcely seen his father raise his voice or fight, but there was some of that in Robb as well. The one thing his father valued above all else was loyalty, something Robb seemed to have inherited. Scarcely fifteen, and he won the loyalty and friendships of many northern heirs, such as GreatJon Umber's son SmallJon and Harrion Karstark.  Robb is a Stark at his core, and will make a great Lord of Winterfell when his time comes.   

 

**_Lyarra_ **

Catelyn might call it strange. Sansa was her mother in miniature in looks and personality. But there was something of his mother in his daughter as well. They both share their same love of songs and large dreams for themselves. 

His mother had grand dreams for all of them: for Brandon to grow tall, strong and into a good lord of Winterfell, for Lya to flower into a beautiful and headstrong lady, and for him and Benjen to help the north prosper. She shared her own dreams of the North to Father; for the North to prosper and never be mocked as a land of savages. 

Sansa has her own dreams of prosperity but mostly of herself. Her head filled so with the sweet songs of the south. She had enjoyed several northern songs when she was a child. But soon enough, she deemed herself to no longer be a child the moment she turned seven. 

Lyarra Stark always sang them to sleep and told them all her dreams for them all until she died of a chill a year or so after Benjen was born. Sansa loved to sing and dream big for herself. It almost pains him that she dreams so much of the south. Will she sing our old songs of the north when she begins to miss it? Mayhaps, she can find happiness in the south. 

 

_**Brandon** _

Brandon finally got his wish. He could never imagine what it was like being the heir. Brandon always seemed to act like it was nothing. He certainly took liberties regarding his status, but he remembers how his wild older brother confided in him that he wished he was second or third born. He never thought that his brother was jealous of him and Ben. He didn't give it much thought until Brandon told him. 

"You boys can live. Live however you like until honour and duty calls upon you. I don't like to think on it but the moment father leaves this world, I'll have to take his place. It's ... scary, Ned. I'm a soldier, a fighter, I'm not cut out for all this lordly shite!"

His youngest boy was his older brother - the wildest wolf - reborn. Quick to laugh, eager to please, and already a natural with a sword for a boy his age. His enthusiasm rivaled even Bran's. He all but grabbed his brother's practice sword from his hand, swinging about. At first, his swings looked wild, like a babe clutching onto a rattle. But then he noticed Rickon's footwork. Barely into his sixth nameday, and he held such a natural form. 

As a jape of some sort, Jory and Rodrik pitted the two boys against each other. Much to everyone's surprise, Rickon had all but dominated Bran. Bran held his face to the ground in shame, while Rickon ran about shouting in glee. 

"I'M A BETTER KNIGHT THAN BRAN! I'M A BETTER KNIGHT THAN BRAN!!"

"Yet, you have yet to be a knight, little one!" he said as he scooped up his youngest into a bear hug. 

"Papa, papa! I'll be the bestest knight ever!! A true knight of the North!!" 

"And I have no doubt in my mind, that you could be, my little wolf!" he said as he tickled his boy into submission.

You finally got your wish Bran. Hopefully, you'll have more sense in this life ...

 

**_Lyanna_ **

She was always around. Her body and her soul. 

His youngest daughter was undoubtedly Lyanna incarnate. They had the same glint of mischievousness in their steely grey eyes, their lips curl into the same grin. And armed with a touch of the wolf's blood as Lya had. She will surely grow into a wild beauty as she did. 

Naturally, his daughter had doubts about that. It made them all the same. He faintly recalled on one visit when he came to the North from the Eyrie, she had confided in him that she heard some of the serving girls calling her "Longface Lya". Though, if they had a sister who was remotely like Sansa, Lya would not handle it with the "civilities" that Cat tried to instill in their youngest daughter. After hearing that Arya had sheep shifted Sansa's bed, his thoughts went to Lya. She would have done something much worse. 

Already half a horse for her young age and having the same taste for blades that Lya did. Mayhaps if she had even a dirk, it would have given Rhaegar more incentive to leave her be. But the other part of his sister would not be here as well. 

Jon was undoubtedly his mother in looks as much as Arya. _Mayhaps Lya had gotten her dream to be born a man?_ He chuckled to himself. Jon had the same jawline as her and her curling dark brown hair. And like her, he seemed to grow faster. Though, that may be more his fault than anyone else's. Lya was more than painfully aware of the burden that most women bear upon marriage. Even now, her words rang clear in his head; _"Love is sweet, dearest Ned. But it cannot change a man's nature."_ It upset him a bit that Jon was more of a man than a boy from the moment he reached his eighth nameday.

He made himself jaded to the world.  He could see in his eyes that he would not let anyone to be close to his heart. Yet, he knows that he would forever be in Jon's heart. Not because he cared and raised for him, but because he loves him so. He loves him as much as Robb, if not more. 

The daughter he had by Catelyn, and his sister's son remind him so much of her. True children of winter. Yet it was still summer. Let them enjoy summer. Let them be children a little while longer.


	89. Lists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon Stark has a list of his own as well, just like Arya. A list of all the people he misses.

It was another cold night, as all days and nights on Skagos usually are. Especially with winter finally coming. He often kept himself nice and warm by snuggling by Shaggy's warm fur. 

Osha had went off to talk with the Magnar while he and Shaggy went off to get more wood for the fire. 

He would stare at it until his eyes would be weary with sleep. Just before he would let sleep take him, he would think of them. The people who held his heart tightly, and make it ache when he thought of them. 

Father. Father was tall and strong. He would hug him and hold him close to his chest until he burst free from him, ready to run off and explore Winterfell. His beard often tickled his face. It almost reminded him of Shaggy's furry snout. But then Father had to go, because the fat king asked him to. The last time he had seen him was in a stone. Not his warm face, but a stone statue made for him to be put in the crypts of Winterfell. He wished that he had stayed in Father's arms a little while longer had he known it would be the last. 

Mother. Mother was beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman in the world. She was always kind to him. Singing him songs, telling him stories. She would sooth him to bed by holding him tightly and rubbing small circles on his back. Her voice when she sang was as beautiful as her hair. One part of one song she sang had stuck to him after all this time: 

_The Warrior stands before the foe,_   
_protecting us where e'er we go._   
_With sword and shield and spear and bow_

But she left too. She left to get Father back. Father came back to Winterfell, ... sort of. But she didn't. She promised to come back, and she didn't. 

Robb. He always thought that he and Robb looked a bit like each other. The perfect mix of Father and Mother. Both of them having Mother's bright fiery red locks and beautiful blue eyes, yet also having Father's strong jaw. Bloody wolves, red wolves, he thought to himself. Robb often played with him. He would put him on top of a horse, and soon he would be on top of the animal, just behind him. Holding his shoulders strongly as they rid in a small pace. He was his loving older brother ... and he didn't want to say good-bye to him. He knew he wouldn't come back. Mother had promised that too.

Sansa. He often thought that Sansa was stupid. Before, she would often play with her dolls. Then, she would often play with the other girls. She did pay attention to him at times. When she tried being liking Mother. She did look like Mother though. Maybe Sansa would be as beautiful if not more beautiful than Mother. Sansa would often talk about the "tall, strong dashing knights" she heard in some story or song. That's stupid! Then she went south with Father to be married to the "prince of her dreams". Nothing is as ever as we dream though. Though she often acted like mother and annoyed him, he would never wish a nightmare on her. I hope you're alright Sansa. I'm sorry. 

Arya. The south took her, like they always take things. She didn't like the same things that Sansa did. Yet, that's how he decided to name her his favorite sister. Though she tried to hide it, she would often take Bran's things to practice with a sword and a bow. And Arya had shown him the same things, what she knew and learned from the older boys. Arya often took him to play some jokes on the guardsmen. The last time they tried to do one, was when they let one of the hounds loose and watched Fat Tom try to get it back in the kennel. He kept falling down and the hound kept playing, thinking it was a game like they did. I wish I could have played one more game with her. 

Jon. He might just be the best of all his brothers. He looked much like Father, though without his tickly beard. Jon would often sneak him sweets when he could. He knew that applecakes were his favorites. Though, he also liked honeycakes too and Jon would often share with him. When there was a really big one, he would split it with him. He knew which pony would be best suited for him and showed him how to handle a horse properly. When he was upset, and Father and Mother weren't around, he knew he could come to Jon. Jon would muss his hair like he did for Arya. But Jon didn't go south like the others. He went away, far far into the North. He said that he would be a Black Knight of the Wall. He wishes he was here now, telling him a tale like he did once. Of how the men of the Wall defending the realm from what was beyond the Wall. Why did he have to go to the Wall? Why couldn't he just stayed my brother?

Bran. Bran was older than him by three years, yet he took care of him like Robb and Jon had done. He had been Lord of Winterfell until Theon the Traitor took their home from them. Bran made sure he went to Maester Luwin for his lessons. He had asked him if he was eating proper like Mother and Father would. He made sure that someone was watching over him. Often Maester Luwin or Old Nan. And he decided that he that nothing was safe anymore. Like anything was ever safe for them. Bran said that we needed to split up. That he needed to protect me. _But I've protected you as much as you've protected me Bran?!!_

_Why did we have to go?!! Why did we have to leave?! We could have found Jon! Jon would protect us both! Everyone already left us! ... Why did you have to go too?_

In his dreams, he didn't feel so alone. In his dreams, they were all back in Winterfell. All of them happy and smiling and safe. But that's all it would be, and that's where they would stay: in his dreams.  But when he would wake up, he would be right where he was: all by his lonesome. Though he had Shaggy and Osha, it wasn't the same. They can't fill the aching pain where his heart is.


	90. Nevermore (Lyanna & Robert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all need to grow up sometime

**_He never seems to get the message. Even after all this time. It's time I put an end to this; for real this time._ **

"So, how have things been Lya?" 

"Things are pretty great Robert. How have things been since the divorce?"

"Alright I guess. I am a bit worried about the kids though. Wondering how they'll take it"

"They're not in their teens anymore. All of them are adults, or rather close to it. How are they anyway? From the last you've seen them? Which was ...?"

"About two months since I've started living the single life again. They seemed alright I guess. Almost looked like robots."

"They were probably expecting it. You and Cersei were not exactly a ... power couple. Even when you were in university"

"Look, I'll cut to the chase Lya"

_C'mon and spit it out you great big lunk._

"I was wondering if we could pick-up where we left off. I mean, especially now, given your situation"

_My situation? That fucking ...!_

"Robert, I told you once before and I don't plan on repeating it til the end of time, so listen carefully to my answer: NO!"

He looked a bit shocked but quickly turned it around with his trademark smile. "Well, why not? You owe me that much"

"I owe you. I owe you, Robert? Is that right? Alright, I'll tell you why I won't go out with you. 

"I won't ever go out with you because you don't give a shit about me or anyone else. If anything, I was likely on your list of many, many conquests. I still remember how after our third date back in high school, you tried to grope me. Remember what I learned on the fourth date, when I overheard you talk to Lonmouth how I'd "finally put out"? And how you were already a father? Nineteen and already a daddy!"

"Wait, you won't go out with me because of Mya? Her mother and I weren't exactly o - "

"I"m not finished. I didn't mind that. In fact, I admired the fact that you were tackling fatherhood. Until I realized you weren't really. As much as you claim to love and adore your children, you never really raised them at all. You just did the "fun" stuff. Please, tell me and remind yourself just who was the one who actually and actively took care of any of your children? Stannis. And Renly too."

"Well, I - "

"Practically forced them to do your dirty work. You don't even do anything at your company anymore Robert! You're the laziest fuck I've ever met. I'm surprised that you graduated high school in the first place and even got into college. Even if it was on a scholarship. Which you just _barely_ even earned! Actually, going back to your children and your darling wife, I'm surprised that they're quite functional. Your eldest boy is best friends with my own boy and is studying mechanical and electrical engineering! Your youngest son is studying to be a vet. Your daughter is doing her dissertation in business management so that she could lead your company into a new direction. Want to know how and why I know this? I heard it from your son who told my son. Ned and Cat heard it from them. Their professors and random strangers know what's going on in your family more than you!"

"I'M PROUD OF ALL OF MY CHI -"

"Do you even know their names? Mya, Bella, Gendry, Myrcella and Tommen, Edmure, Arwyn, Edric, Leobald, Lynora, Daegon, and I know for a fact that Alysane's daughter Berena is yours. So don't you _dare_ try to deny that! Do you know or bother to know and raise them at all? I know for a fact that Mya is working as a tour guide and animal trainer of sorts at the Moon Mountain Park. Bella is studying to become a beautician. Edmure is on a scholarship same as you but is actually working his butt off to maintain it. Arwyn is teaching troubled youths self-defense. Edric has been under Alester Florent's wing at Brightwater so that he could take control. Leo and Lyn managed to get an internship in Tywin's company. Daegon's going to graduate high school along with my niece. And Berena is just about to go to high school."

"OK ... But it's not like I co - "

"Want to know why your company is losing money, Robert? It's not because of some new lucrative marketing strategy. It's because Stannis had been sending money to your children's mothers so that your children can have a secure future!"

Robert's face became as hard as stone in that instant. Almost like his infamous brother. 

"And let's talk about those mothers actually. One of them happened to be one of my best friends. Sarya Whent; remember? Last time I remember, you had knocked her up on homecoming, when you were trying to convince me that you were going to change for the better. I was going to call you when Sarya came to me crying and begging me to forgive her."

"We were drunk the both of us!"

"You certainly used that to your advantage didn't you?! Then again, I'm pretty sure you weren't drunk cuz I saw you bragging to one of your mates that you "tapped some sweet ass". So, either you weren't drunk or you remembered something from that night?!"

"Why're you still friends with her then?"

"Cuz I was and am still pissed at _you_. I'm not going to hold that over Sarya or my godchild. In fact, that's one of the worst things about you, which is why I'll never date you. You're dangerous, toxic. You leave behind a trail of destruction and you just don't give a shit!" 

"Oy, I can say the same thing about your brother!"

"Don't you dare drag Brandon into this! He may not have been perfect but once he made a mistake, he at least _tried_ to rectify it! You're nothing but a giant headfuck! All of the guys I ever gone out with before I got married were better than you! Better at everything including being an actual boyfriend!"

"Really now?" He said snidely 

"Want me to start? OK, first off, Jaime Lannister. Sure, he was a bit of an arrogant twat but he was funny, great company to be around and not that bad of a guy. Y'know, when he came back from his tour, depressed over the fact that he lost his hand, I was the one who got him into rehab! Howland Reed; he was painfully shy at first but filled with a lot of adventure. Our first date; we had a picnic and spent the rest of the days catching fireflies like kids. Victarion Greyjoy; gods, was he buff! A bit dull but so surprisingly sweet. Took me out on a boat ride. Arthur Dayne; he was a true gentlemen. Too good for this sinful world if you ask me. Oberyn Martell; he had an insane lust and zest for life that no one else possessed. I admired that about him. Your brother Stannis; he may be as "stiff as a board" and I kinda expected him to be like you. But he was very sweet if not too formal. Y'know, he actually laughed when he found out that you fucked "the ugly bridesmaid" at his wedding. It was nice to see and hear him laugh

Then I met Rhaegar. Sure, the timing was impeccable. Though, in my defense, I did not know that his wife passed away. I loved him because he didn't try to change me or see me as something else or another pair of legs he could get into. He loved everything about me, even the parts that I hated about myself. And that is why I'll never go out with you. You just ruin everything you touch Robert, with no regard as to who you hurt. And I'll tell you one thing; Ned's too good of a person to have in your life. 

Our situations are different too. Rhaegar passed away due to a stress-induced heart attack, Cersei was finally fed up with your shit. You and I, are never going to happen. So, do the world a favour. Stop living in the past and grow the fuck up."


	91. Always A Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what anyone said, you were my brother and you were a Stark. This is where you belong, and I can only hope my son lives up to his namesake  
> AU Jon dies and Robb lives and names his son after the boy he loved like a brother

He would never admit it to himself, but he was often a bit jealous of Jon. He looked more like Father than I ever did. And he was a better swordsman than him. 

But he also needed him. Wanted him by his side. 

In the end, they had been able to fight side by side for the honour and glory for the Starks. The newly reforged Ice in his hands and Longclaw in Jon's. Both of them facing against the army of the dead. 

Jon had left behind such a legacy he could have never thought of. The Last Commander of the Night's Watch to some, the King-Beyond-the-Wall to many of the wildlings, King of the True North to all. With the help of Queen Daenerys, he separated the Land of Always Winter from Westeros so that the White Walkers would leave them be. All of them at peace. 

Ultimately, Jon succumbed to his wounds and died en route to Winterfell. Theon had carried him the rest of the way there before he died as well. He cried himself silly when he heard the massacre at the Crossing. Uncle Brynden told him that it would be best that he lay low until they could raise a new army. He cried himself to sleep believing that he had lost Jeyne. 

When he was brought the body of his brother, he died. It was a nightmare, he led himself to believe for weeks. That Jon would come back with one of his rare heartwarming smiles. It was beyond a nightmare; it was the worst memory he could bare in mind. Sansa had silently cried; her tears nearly freezing as they traveled down her cheeks. Arya, whom surprisingly made it to Winterfell alive, howled in grief at the sight. Screamed at the top of her lungs before slumping to her knees, pleading, begging the Old Gods, to any God that may be listening to give Jon back. Rickon had howled as much as Arya did alongside his wolf. 

He did leave behind quite a legacy in the wildlings, who were now proper Northmen. They now knew and recognized him as Jon the Dragonwolf, the man who saved them. As well as one in the wildling princess Val. And Queen Daenerys. Val claimed that she had "stolen" Jon long before Daenerys acknowledged Jon as a claimant to the throne and as a worthy suitor and husband. My brother managed to earn the love of two of the loveliest ladies in the world. Jon's child with the "wildling princess" would become a lord of the newly-created House Frost of Frostfall; a towering tall keepb and daunting above the cliffs of Cape Kraken. His son by Daenerys would be a prince or princess of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Calling him "cousin" seemed too strange to him. They were raised like brothers, fought and laughed like brothers. Jon would always be his brother. The stonemason, Halder from the Night's Watch, had captured his likeness well. Aunt Lyanna and Father must have been twins or something, for they did alike or at the least had a similar likeness to each other. Jon looked so much like Father. Long-faced, narrow-cheeked and eyes as grey as a misty moor. But like all the effigies in the crypts, it didn't capture the warmth he held. Father looked as if his lord's face had been plastered on since birth. Jon looked about the same; a face devoid of any emotion. 

"Robb," someone called out. It was his mother alongside Jeyne and the baby. His mother looked sad while Jeyne looked quite worried. His mother then approached him, wanting to say something. 

"Don't say anything. I know just what you thought of him. But he's a wolf; a Stark. This is his place. This is where he belongs," he said as his mother then looked downcast.

He was a Stark. Jon was always a Stark. This is where he belongs. With our father. And his mother. 

Robb then inched himself closer to Jeyne. She instinctively knew just what he was going to do; and she willingly gave him their babe. Their son seemed to be the perfect mix of them both. He has Jeyne's pretty chestnut brown hair and his eyes. He'll grow up to be a handsome lad. 

"C'mere. You know who that is? That's your Uncle Jon. He was the best man I knew. Strong, wise, honourable. But more importantly, a good man. That's why I named you after him. Hopefully, you'll be as great a man as he was." he said to his son as he let out a small squeal.

He then looked at the stone effigy once again; sadness thick in his voice. "I love you, Jon. And I miss you every day."


	92. Rising High (Lysa/Elbert, Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, for the sake of simplicity, I've merged the character's of Elbert and Denys and made Denys himself a more obscure character

This wasn't fair. I lose my child and now have to marry an old man. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East. 

It's a good match her father says. But she knows what he means; that it's the only match he's willing to accept. Though there had been some other suitors. There was Ser Raymun Darry who was the fourth son and youngest brother to Lord Uthor. Jeffory Mallister was a courteous youth if not a bit too bold for her liking. There had been talks of her being betrothed to Robert Baratheon's recently knighted brother Stannis, but that had fallen through. Now, she is to wed a man older than her father and old enough to be her own grandfather. 

_I don't want any of them! All I've ever wanted was Petyr but he wanted Cat ... Even after she broke his heart and let that brute cut him down._

Lord Jon Arryn does seem kind though. His head is filled with graying hair but there was still some bright blonde hair around his temples, the shape of his nose made him look like a elegant bird of prey and his blue eyes looked shrewd yet kind. The septa told her to find his beauty, and it's quite apparent that he may have been quite the looker in his younger days. As they approach the sept, he takes her hands into his own. His hands are gnarled and callous yet feel so soft and gentle. With one swift motion, she was no longer a Tully but now an Arryn. 

The feast thrown in their honour is rather quaint and small. Some lords of the riverlands and many Vale lords had come in attendance. Blackwood, Bracken, Ryger, Mooton, Mallister, Darry, Royce, Redfort, Hunter, Waynwood, Grafton, Lynderly. All of them came up to them to offer their congratulations to them. Almost at an instant, the lords called for them to be bedded. She felt terrified as they tore at her shift and carried her to their chambers. 

He is then thrown into their chambers soon after. She sees that he is still quite broad and virile for his age. He looks as uncomfortable as she felt. “I am sorry,” he offers lamely as he sits upon the bed.

I have no right to feel embarrassed by this endeavor. I really am selfish, he feels quite guilty for having to wed someone so young. He probably feels like that old lecher Lord Walder Frey; who's had six wives so far and searching for a new young thing to wed. Instead she rests her hand atop his own and says, “It is a great honor to be your wife, Lord Arryn." 

* * *

It is a small comfort that Uncle Brynden is coming to the Eyrie with her. At least I won't be completely alone. 

Edmure was quite saddened until she had told him that he could visit once she was settled in. Father tried to send her off with a hug but she rebuked him. _I won't be forgetting or forgiving you anytime soon Father. You can die in all the Seven Hells for what you did to me and my child._

"I hope you'll come to think of the Eyrie and Vale as your home and people in time, my lady," Jon Arryn said kindly. I hope they will think the same of me as well. 

It took nearly a month to go to the Eyrie. Even from a distance, she could tell it was a grand castle. Made of pure white stone, consisting only of a cluster of seven slim, white towers bunched tightly together, it almost looked like as if it were made of snow. Though, it certainly looked smaller than Riverrun. 

As they came close to the castle, she heard the clanging of swords and peels of laughter. Both of them were young men who looked close to Cat's age. One had richly-decorated armour with the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn but also a bright sunburst on grey behind it. An Arryn of Gulltown. The other one's armour was not as richly decorated but more functional and able to move more quickly than the Gulltown Arryn. 

She took note on just how handsome the knight was as he removed his helm. Flaxen windswept hair, sharp-nosed and jawed, piercing blue eyes the colour of the sky with a smile as sharp as his sword...well, hopefully only the one he wore at his side. 

"Uncle Jon! Who is this beauty you've brought before us?" the flaxen-haired man asked as he approached the both of them.

"Lysa, this is my nephew and heir Elbert. Otherwise known as the Darling of the Vale. Elbert, this is my lady wife, Lysa Tully. Though now, she is Lady Lysa Arryn now." Jon said with a chuckle. 

"Uncle, you surely wound me. You've married a lovely young maiden yet you have not made a proper match for me? Do you hate me so?"

 _He worries that he'll be displaced should I give Lord Jon a son_. "I-I'm certain your uncle does not hate you, good ser!" she said sounding apologetic. 

"A jest, my lady. Nothing more. Though, this does make me wonder as why you grace her as your wife and not mine own, uncle?"

"It was a rather ... spur of the moment decision, my boy."

"Well, nonetheless, I welcome you to the Eyrie, my lady."

* * *

She seldom spent time with Lord Jon Arryn; her husband. It still perturbed her to call him that, even thought that they had been married for only two moons. He was kind to her if not distant. Though they had slept in the same chambers, they were in no way close. She spent much of her time talking with Elbert; his nephew who kindly showed him around the Eyrie and told her of its history and even the adventures he had gotten into with Robert Baratheon and Catelyn's new husband Eddard Stark. _Shame about "sweet Brandon" though. She loved him as much as I loved Petyr._

"Do you truly believe that my sister will be happy with your friend Ned?"

"Yes, certainly. He's one of the best men I've ever known. We've had some grand adventures all of us in the Vale! Hell, I would have loved to call him a brother. Or technically speaking, coz"

"Lord Arryn was serious about betrothing one of his nieces to him? He loved him like a son, didn't he?"

"He loved Robert like one too. Should he have a son by you, he'd surely name him after one of them!"

Even though it is part of her duty, the thought of it perturbed her. Having a child by Jon Arryn, who is so so old. _It'd be a pity if I gave birth to a child for him_. He would barely have enough time for it or me. He might even pass away before his own child becomes a man or woman. That changed her train of thought. Just having a child again, her own child to have and to hold and cherish til the end of time. But Jon is not a strong and robust young man; not anymore.

And that's when she began to look at Elbert; truly look at him. Strong, robust, kind eyes and fair of hair and heart. If things were different, I could have been married to him. But now's the time to complain. She may not love her husband but she will not betray him either. 

Yet, much of her time is spent with Elbert who tells her more and more of his misadventures with Robert and Ned and what had happened to his own family: how his father perished as he was born, how his mother was taken by a group of mountain clansmen, how one of his cousins was seduced by a "dornish sellsword" and had a bastard as she joined the Faith, how Ned Stark was once quite close to being betrothed to one of his Waynwood cousins but was quickly seduced by Hardyng steward at the time. Their conversations varying to serious topics at hand to idle gossip. 

_"I honestly think that the Lannister woman will drive him mad at the very least."_

_"Well, best he be married to someone! He can't pine after Lord Stark's sister forever!"_

_"Do you think you'll be married soon?"_

_"Uncle says by the beginning of the next year. He's been working quite hard to find the right bride for me that would create a beneficial alliance. Hopefully not a Lannister!"_

But that does not stop herself or him in the end. Her husband becomes an afterthought as she decides to stop dreading anything and feels Elbert's strong hands all over her body and his lips kissing her own and mouthing her breasts. The very feel of him inside of her, pumping in and out in a steady pace as he firmly grips her hips. This is what it feels like to be loved. 

* * *

He seldom comes to Lysa's bed. Though she has never refused his company and never hinted that she finds him repulsive, but Jon is not a stupid man. Lysa is young and one of the most loveliest women at court; Jon does not dare confuse the companionship they have for something more romantic. He has a great deal of affection for Lysa Tully, and she is forever looking after him, urging him to eat better, forcing him to see the maester when he appears ill, but their marriage will never be a passionate one. 

One day, she sporadically asks him to bed her and he queerly complied. She rarely asks him a thing and she has a glare in her eyes that tells him not to refuse her. Suddenly, he had experienced one of the most passionate nights he had ever had. He feels like a callow youth of eight-and-ten, like Robert before he left the Eyrie and fully became the Lord of Storm's End he need be. But he is not and is shortly reminded of that as he wakes up to find her snuggled close to his shoulder. 

He finds himself entranced as she begins to swell with child. And soon, he's enchanted by the children she has borne. A boy and girl. They both have the Tully look, but Jon does not care a lick he cannot see himself in his children's face. Those first few weeks, every chance he has, Jon is carrying little Robin and Minisa around, showing them off with unbridled enthusiasm. Elbert himself now married to Lady Mina Tyrell; a rather warm and caring girl.

The future suddenly seems so much more brighter. 

And so it surprises him when, shortly after the twin's second name day, Lysa appears in his chambers in her night dress, her hair flowing unbound over her shoulders. For a moment, he has a wild hope she desires him, that she wishes for his companionship.

But then she says, “I'd like another child,” and Jon finds reality hitting him squarely in the face.

It is not as if it is unbearable to give Lysa what she wants. She asks for so little as it is, never voicing a single complaint when she is shut away with the other women during the day, never complaining of being homesick; if she wants to keep from his bed, he would not blame her, and if she wants 100 children, he will sire them. Though, he is no Walder Frey by any means.

Jon frets he is the worst kind of man for wanting a girl so young as desperately as he does, but loneliness is a powerful thing. Jon prefers the moments after when Lysa is warm and peaceful in his arms, when they talk and Jon can pretend they have the sort of relationship he once had with either Jeyne or Rowena; his late wives. Some nights Lysa even falls asleep with her head on his chest, and Jon thinks he is a very silly old man to love his wife as much as he does.

Pregnancy makes her positively blossom; everyone comments on it, and it makes Jon swell with a peculiar sense of pride. He catches her embroidering the smallest gown he has ever seen, and Lysa blushes as she confesses how she longs for a daughter. When little Edwell is born, Jon thinks he has never seen Lysa grin so broadly. As he looks upon his wife cradling their newborn son, Minisa and Robin snuggled up beside him touching their sister with amazement on his face, Jon Arryn considers himself the luckiest man in Westeros.

* * *

 _I should not be doing this. She is his wife. I have a wife mine own with a child I adore as much as I do her. Uncle Jon has never wronged me in anyway,_ yet he feels drawn to her. 

He isn't even sure that what he is feeling is love anymore. There is certainly a sense of affection and he feels his heart flutter a bit when they come to visit at the Gates of the Moon, which is seldom often. He wants to blame this all on her; she was the one who started it all when she first kissed me. But I did not have to kiss her back. I did not have to fill her belly with my seed and allow this farce to pass. 

Uncle Jon looks so happy. And if he was to tell him the truth about what he had done, he doesn't even know just what would happen. Jon's children - his children - would be considered bastards. Lysa could be cast out and sent to the Faith. He himself would likely face some sort of exile. 

Mina looks to me as if I truly am the Darling in the Vale as she begins to swell with child again, and little Androw clings on to me like a soldier desperate for salvation. I have forgotten that. Where was the man who was called the truest knight of his generation? He was gone, consumed by vices like lust and greed. 

He should have stopped the moment he cloaked Mina under his protection and made his vows to her. Mina is a good honest woman and he feels lucky to have her. And that should be - will be - enough to restrain himself from Lysa. But he needs to do something first and foremost. 

* * *

“It only happened once, and then once more,” she manages when the children have gone, when it is only the two of them in the chamber which now feels far too small. “There is no excuse. Please...please do not make me send them away - “

Jon holds up a hand, silencing her words. He looks at her then, his Tully wife, and he curses himself for thinking someone so young and so pretty could ever truly love him as a man. His throat is tight as he asks, “Why?”

He then finds himself remembering just what had happened hours ago. Elbert in his chambers confessing what he had done, tears running down in his face and shoulders slumped. Looking so much like the boy he once sent to Strongsong rather than the man he has grown up to be. _"I-I'm so, so, so-so-sorry, Uncle J-Jon! I am so ashamed for what I've done!"_

Lysa wipes at her face with the back of her hand before lamely offering, “Because it was our choice.”

Twice, he had wed a woman of his choosing; something like pity swells in his chest for Lysa and Elbert and Mina. She was just a girl when he wed her; he cannot curse her for wanting a man her own age, especially when that man is someone Jon has always loved as if he were his own son.

They do not speak of the children's paternity ever again.

* * *

He is gone now. The former Arryn's of Gulltown had been decimated by illness and a surprise raid from the Greyjoys. Only the son of Jon Arryn's Waynwood niece and the Gulltown Arryn she wed is left; though little more than a child. He will be granted a new keep in close range of Ninestars and his name now Jon Brightstone coupled with a splendid heraldry echoing his heritage of House Waynwood and Arryn. In the meantime, he is the new Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. 

Elbert now occupies as the new head of House Arryn of Gulltown. From what she had heard, Elbert is running things very efficiently along with his wife Mina. Mina was the real brains behind the customs in Gulltown, having recent increases in incomes tenfold. 

Nothing had ever been the same. When Elbert and Mina do make s visit, they are curt and pleasant but she feels Elbert's eyes almost being icy to the touch. He will ask about the children's well-being but not about her, with little regard. 

Any sense of companionship she remotely had with her husband was now gone. While he is certainly fatherly with the children, he looks at her quite icily. She could almost read his thoughts on his face. _I've done this before. Raised children who I loved as mine own, yet were not mine._

The children do matter in this but did it have to be this way in the end? I was a stupid selfish little girl. This was not better than what had happened with Petyr. This was a thousand times worse. Jon and Elbert spoke little with each other; mostly out of politeness. Even Uncle Brynden, who did little to nothing to chastise her after she told him, kept a distance from her. 

 _Mayhaps I could go to Winterfell to visit Cat and bring the children. They could know their cousins._ But that would be running from a problem, and she could not run away from the mess she created.

I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much.


	93. Wild Things - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come

"You want us to do what now, boy?"

It was so strange looking at him, talking terms with the officers of the Night's Watch. He was not the scared boy who often turned to him whenever he was scared. Jon stood tall and strong and proud. He walked with a true sense of confidence unlike the swagger Theon had. 

"Arm the Wall with the wildlings. They never sought to conquer the North or the rest of the kingdoms. I have seen what's out there. I've seen what's coming along with the rest of them."

"Are they your people now, Lord Snow?" Ser Alliser Thorne sneered at him. Though, he was one to talk. The now one-armed knight also bore a scar that marred both his cheeks which made sinewy man all the more unpleasant and uglier. 

"Aye, they are my people. I've fought with them, hunted with them, lead them. The Blood of the First Men flows in them, same as every man, woman and child in the North. They are no different than any of you. They breathe the same air and bleed the same blood."

"You'd have us destroy every ounce of tradition the Night's Watch ever had, Jon Snow." Jeor Mormont said as he gently tugged on his beard. He could tell that he was clearly thinking on it. 

"You haven't experienced what we have experienced. The Night's Watch has forgotten its true purpose, Lord Mormont. You don't build a wall seven hundred feet high and five hundred miles wide to keep savages in skins from stealing women. The Wall was made to guard the realms of men … and not against other men, which is all the wildlings are when you come right down to it. Too many years, my lord, too many hundreds and thousands of years. We lost sight of the true enemy. And now they're here, but we don't know how to fight them. 

The Night is gathering, my lords. I know it, I've seen it, I feel it." Jon said. Robb looked at him as if a stranger was now before him and Theon looked incredulous. His usual cocky grin returned to his face.

Jon then motioned to the long-lost heir of the Dreadfort; Domeric Bolton. He then brought out a small cage which contained ... a hand. Frozen yet ... moving. 

"The fuck is that?!" The GreatJon roared along with several other black brothers and lords. Robert was so shocked he nearly choked on his wine.

"It's what's coming for us all. And the rapers, thieves and green boys you've sent up north will not be enough. Every one of those savages as you call them, have faced them. They have not sought to conquer but to take shelter in the lands that the Wall protects. They could settle in the Gift. There's good land there, plenty of villages long abandoned ..."

"And why do you think most of them had been abandoned? Because of the wildlings!" the Lord Steward shouted. 

"Right now, they need that land more than the memory of the dead!"

Just before the Lord Steward could say anything else, Domeric Bolton than eyed then with his strangely eerie eyes, so much like his father's. "If I may interject my lords, but may I ask you, what is the vow that all men of the Night's Watch takes?" 

The Lord Steward Bowen Marsh could only stammer at his question. The Lord Builder Othell Yarwyck then responded to his question; "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my lif - "

"That's enough. The shield that guards the realms of men. The realms of men. That means them too."

* * *

As he went to his chambers, he saw Robb and Jon hugging each other tightly looking misty-eyed. He felt quite misty-eyed at the sight alone.

"I can't believe it! I thought you were dead!" 

"I nearly did a couple of times. I do hope I wasn't to rough with you. I am sorry about that"

"Nothing I couldn't handle really. Though, I can't say the same for Theon. Did you have to hit him so hard?"

"He's an arse, you can't say that he didn't have it coming! And it's not like I can control Grenn really. He's a mate, not a hound!"

"Hound? You wish! He's as big as an aurochs!"

The both of them turned around and saw him. Robb gently nodded his head while Jon silently lowered his head. He would have none of that. Instead, he went to them and pulled them into a large group hug. "My boys," Ned Stark whispered into their ears. 

He then looked at Jon, truly looked. His shoulders a bit more broader, bearing lean sinewy muscle and his eyes ... he's seen much beyond the Wall. 

"It has been quite an adventure being beyond the Wall. I've made some good friends along the way. And Mance - and you - taught me much on how to be a man"

"Well, I can't exactly speak for his honour given what he's done, but I'm certain he raised you right at the very least!"

Jon just gave him a stern nod. Robb was about to say something but was then interrupted by Theon who came in. 

"OY! JON!" 

He could tell that he intended to hit Jon as part of some sort of retaliation. Before Theon's fist could meet anywhere, Jon took note and quickly launched his own fist into Theon's jaw. 

"Good to see you too, Theon! And you finally remembered that my name isn't Snow!"

Theon then got up, clutching his jaw. He then gave a Jon a look. It wasn't jealousy or arrogance. For once, he saw humility in Theon Greyjoy's dark eyes. 

"I'm glad you're not dead."

"Yeah, me too"

* * *

Robert stood before them all at the dais of the Common Hall. All the other Lords looked a bit uneasy with the exception of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. 

"I've talked it through with all the Lords here, Lord Snow. And as much as it grieves me to say it, I accept your request. The mothers, children and greybeards will be allowed to settle on the Gift. The Wall will receive an abundance of men with in a moon's time. First of the men being the goddamn Kingslayer. He's of no use to me anymore. Frankly, you and your lot have proven one thing: I've got shit for Kingsguard!"

"Saying that you had shit for kingsguard is like saying I've got gold in my privy. And last I checked, I'm not a Lannister," Jon said. 

Robert then eyed Jon, looking at him with a certain fierceness. But then it went away as fast as the melting snows as Robert's booming laughter and placed his big beefy hands on Jon's shoulder's to support himself. 

"Are you certain you're Ned's boy? You've got a better sense of humour than he ever did!! HAHAHA!!"

From there on, Jon and Robert openly discussed just what castles will be occupied by the Night's Watch and by whom within the ranks and titles the wildlings seem to hold along with the new inductees and commanders of the Night's Watch.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was to be under command by a man called the "Great Walrus", Jon himself to command Sentinel Stand, Stonedoor to be commanded by a man named Shieldbreaker, Hoarfrost Hill by that stout man who knocked out Robert named Giantsbane, Icemark by the Night's Watch Commander Bedwyck, Deep Lake by a man named Sealskinner, Queensgate by a woman by the name of Morna, Woodswatch by a man named Halleck, Sable Hall to be commanded by Mance Rayder himself, Rimegate to be commanded by a wildling named Kingsblood, and Long Barrow to be under the command of Ser Selwyn Tarth.

"Looks like you'll be man wrapped in black instead of white, Jon Snow. You'd be a wonderful addition to my Kingsguard."

"I've lived in the lands beyond the Wall with the wildlings for far too long, my king. I can never truly kneel after all that."

* * *

He never wanted this for Jon. Had enough time be granted, or all of this had not happened, he would have made Jon Lord Defender of the Gift. But in a way, he had become that. 

He had selected much of his own men to occupy his seat with him. Among them were the squires he had been assigned: Pyp, Halder and Jeren. His large friend Grenn along with several other raw recruits. 

As that was happening, Ser Barristan had personally hand-picked several of the remaining young knights to join the Kingsguard; Loras Tyrell, Waymar Royce, Guyard Morrigen, Richard Horpe, and Donnel Waynwood. Many of them had proven themselves, but they still reeked of summer. 

Just as he was about to go off looking for him, he saw Jon gently nuzzling a young woman with honey-blonde hair. 

"Father. Father, this is Val. Val, this is my father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell." 

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, my lord. I can see where Jon gets his good looks from," Val said as she conducted a perfect curtsy. Is she truly a wildling? Before he could ponder anything, she had went off talking to one of Jon's companions.  

"She made you quite happy, hadn't she?" 

"She certainly has."

"You are aware that wo - "

"Woman are being allowed in the Watch. Well, the ones that can fight anyways."

"Are you sure about this? Joining the Watch?"

"I've seen what's coming. I've been able to live my life freer than I ever thought. And now, I'm ready to swear the oath. Shame about Dom though."

"Dom is now the Lord of the Dreadfort. And from what I heard, his baseborn half-brother will be joining the Wall soon enough."

"Aye, he'll be joining Halleck's brood if I heard right."

"I just want you to know, that I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the man you've become."

He then held him tightly, tightly as he could. He found himself remembering how he held him when he was still a boy. When did he grow up so fast?

Jon then headed toward Robb, both of them hugging each other tightly. He then went to Theon and held him by the arm to which Theon responded with a simple nod. He then headed off to where his group had been waiting for him. And then he rode off, gone with the cold winds and the morning dew. All of it fading.


	94. An Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 things Jon did that reminded Aemon of Aegon, and one thing Jon did that Aegon could never do.

_One_

The boy does have a knack for getting himself into trouble. Though he did not seek it as his brother did. But just like him, he tested the patience of others. Though, Egg behaved as he did: a foolhardy young boy. This boy was not foolhardy to say the least. No, he could hear the iron tones in his voice. 

So serious for a boy of only four-and ten. But no one can be a boy forever. Especially a boy who's stench is not filled with the dreams of summer; of knightly ventures and the like. No, this boy's dreams were for something far different. 

 

_Two_

He does have a certain charm to him. Not the obvious charm that every man, woman and child falls for but he has one. Egg was like that too. They also have a knack for befriending anyone and everyone they come across. 

He can still remember the day Egg had come with his friend, who at the time called himself Dunk the Lunk. Egg had met many different people and had been good friends to them all. Yet, Ser Duncan the Tall was his closest compatriot. 

Jon Snow, a highborn boy who grew up in his father's castle, had earned himself some friends. From what Samwell Tarly had told him, the recruits that he had fought with had now become his closest friends and allies. There was Grenn, who was tall and thick as an aurochs. Pyp, who had once been a mummer and frequently told tall tales and japes. Halder, who supposedly is as strong as Grenn if not just as tall. Jeren, a boy of roughly the same cloth as Jon Snow. And even Samwell himself; a meek and shy boy. 

Strangely enough, Sam reminded him much of Duncan when he was that age. So unsure of himself and the sense of wanting to belong somewhere. And both of them in a place where they cannot marry or have children. 

Egg would have loved to meet these boys. 

 

_Three_

Half a wildling, the other officers called him. Many great lords and small oft said that Egg was half a peasant. He roamed the lands of Westeros as no prince of the blood would have done. Jon Snow had roamed the lands that were beyond the Wall. 

The both of them spoke for them, my brother for the smallfolk he loved dearly and Jon for the wildlings he came to care for. He could try to deny it all he likes, he could not hide it in his voice. There is no doubt that the Halfhand told him to do what he'd done, but he found himself unburdened for once. 

Mayhaps, he had felt like a boy once again?

 

_Four_

Love. Love can be a folly at times. Love often comes at a cost. And it does for those in hold of great power. 

Egg did not pay that cost. He married his lady love quite young. No one looked twice at it. And no one could see just how much he and Betha were made for one another. 

Jon Snow found love. He could hear that in his voice too. The iron in it was still there, but placed with something as soft as a feather-pillow. 

This girl, whomever she was, was no ordinary girl. She had placed herself deep within his heart and being. He is likely thinking of her with every fleeting moment. 

Mayhaps, you will see your lady love once again, Jon Snow. 

 

_Five_

Leaders often lead with a heavy burden to shoulder. Everyone who is not a leader often believes that it is the easiest thing to do. It is not. 

Leadership is the heaviest of burdens to bear. Egg understood that more than any king that came upon the Iron Throne. Being a leader means to care for all those you intend to lead. Knowing the men whom you are leading; whether into battle or simply leading your countrymen into peace rather than war. Diligent, preparing, seeking the grander perspective in things, unyielding in a nature of sorts, demonstrating an undying sense of loyalty in others. 

The boys he befriended would readily die for Jon Snow of Winterfell; now the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The Aurochs, the "Mummer's Monkey", the Stone-Headed, the boy of Oldtwon, the twin boys of Fair Isle, the Horse from Mole's Town, Iron Emmett of Eastwatch. All of them would easily lay down their lives for a man they clearly chose as leader. Much like the Kingsguard Egg chose: his beloved Ser Duncan, the young devout Ser Gerold, the bright Ser Harlan ...

Surely, my brother has been reborn in this boy.

 

_And One_

Kill the boy. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. And let the man be born. 

Do what my brother failed to do. Even as he became king, there was still a touch of the boy who had wandered the kingdoms. 

He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall.

It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born. You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done.

Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born. I know you will be the man that Egg could have been. The man he needed to be. 

The man to lead the Wall and bring about the light in the darkest of days.


	95. Iron River (Asha/Edmure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Greyjoy Rebellion, the terms of peace is not only Theon being sent to foster with Ned Stark but for Hoster Tully's only son, Edmure Tully to wed the Kraken's Daughter.  
> Slight AU.

This was stupid from the beginning. What was Father thinking? And now he was dead; killed by the the knight now called the Kingslayer; Jaime Lannister. 

Now, her elder brother Maron is now the Lord Reaver of Pyke, and had been successful in getting himself a wife in his own-lead raid along the Mander. Though, from the looks the blonde bitch gives him, it looks almost as if she wanted to be taken. She looks as soft as her people with her cream-coloured skin and hands as soft as sinful silk. 

Despite the circumstances, Maron is allowed to have his wife in hopes of siring new Greyjoys that don't have shit for brains. But because of her father's recklessness and stupidity, she and Theon are to foster in the North with Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. And she was to be sent to the riverlands to be fostered with Lord Hoster Tully. So that one day, she may marry his son and heir Edmure. 

I don't want to be wed to some stupidly soft greenlander who thinks of nothing but glory in the battlefield and in the sheets. 

Cousin Quenton would have gone, but King Rhaegar had said it would be taking too much from a family who suffered the follies of one. And he's Uncle Vic's only son, it would destroy him. Even if he won't admit it. 

Just as she and Theon are sent to their boats to bring them to the greenlands, Maron holds and hugs them tightly. He's never done that before. "Remember who you are. You are ironborn: the both of you. What is dead may never die!"

"What is dead may never die!"

* * *

Though not an overly large castle, Riverrun is quite impressive and strong-looking with its sandstone walls. Lord Hoster looked quite tall and strong as she remembered her grandfather Quellon. His red-brown hair streaked with threads of grey and his belly was a bit portly. 

Edmure seemed to take after the Tullys; bright auburn-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. He looked close to if not a bit younger than Maron. He seemed uneasy to say the least, but he had a small smile around his face. 

"My lady, I welcome you to Riverrun." Lord Hoster Tully said politely. Of course he would be happy, ambitious flopping trout he is. 

Edmure politely shows her around the castle. Almost everything seemed triangular from the keep to the solar. It bores her til he shows her the training grounds. He goes on bragging that he'll be as great as Barristan the Bold or even the "Kingslayer" one day. That was enough to piss her off and challenge him to a duel.

He looked at her as if it was a jape. And then he began to laugh his arse off, clutching at his sides. "Girls can't fight!!" 

That just made her blood boil even more. " _This_ girl can!!" She then took a blunted training sword and tossed another at his feet. 

"Are you scared to lose to a girl?" she taunted him as she pointed her own blade at him. Edmure's eyes then filled themselves with seriousness instead of laughter. 

"Alright. If you insist. Don't go off crying to your papa when I beat you to the dirt!" he said smugly. 

So then he swung, charging foolhardily. Big mistake. Though not used to the sword, she's able to block each strike he tries to land at her. He's ... quick to say the least, though his movements are uncoordinated. 

"I thought you were to be as great as your greenlander knights. Mayhaps I should call you, Ser Floppyfish! That seems to be a good name for you!"

Edmure's face than began to turn as bright as his hair. And then he charged while practically yelling out some kind of war cry. Or what is supposed to be a war cry. Idiot. 

Rather than use her training blade to subdue him, she gave him a strong solid fist to his nose. She then heard a loud crunching sound. Edmure was then on the ground, clutching his now broken nose. He looked like he was about to cry. Just as she could say anything, he ran off. 

Maybe I should have been easier on him?

* * *

I hate sewing. This isn't punishment from the gods for being a girl; it's punishment for kicking Lord Hoster's only boy into the dirt. 

He tells her that she needs to be a "proper lady" and learn proper customs but she knows that that's not the case. Maron's words kept ringing in her head as the stupid septa's wrinkled face and mouth kept moving:  _Remember who you are. You are ironborn. What is dead may never die!_  

What kind of lady finds this shite fun anyway? The only girl here was Rhialta Vance and Myrielle Lannister; who were rather nice and comely girls just a year younger than her. They were good company to say the least, but she would be better off anywhere. 

As the septa looks away, she takes the moment to flee. Just as she comes down the stairs, she sees a man a bit younger than Lord Hoster down the staircase. He's tall as Lord Hoster but leaner, a windburnt face and brighter blue eyes than Lord Hoster. 

"Who are you? And where do you think you're going?" he asks her gently with a hoarse smoky voice. 

She stands tall and proud. "I am Asha Greyjoy, The Kraken's Daughter, sister to Lord Maron Greyjoy of Pyke!"

Rather than look intimidated, the man looked amused and began to laugh. "You remind me of my niece Catelyn. I think she would have liked you. Shame that you're not fostered along with your brother. It's practically a crime to separate the both of you."

She hadn't been expecting for anyone to say anything kind to her. Not about her or her family, really. Rather than looking like a proud ironborn warrior, she slips back into a blushing little girl. "Thank you, my lord:

"Hahaha. I'm no lord of anything really. I am Ser Brynden Tully, though everyone just calls me the Blackfish really. Cuz no one gives a shit about my real name, not even my arse of a brother!"

I like this man. He's fun. Suddenly, she feels herself giggling silly. 

"So, is my nephew treating you kindly?"

"Sort of. I might have said some things, he might have said some things. And then we fought in the training yard. ... And then I broke his nose."

"Ahh. So, that's why Hos is so miffed. Edmure can be quite brash. He's probably a bit more so now that his sisters aren't here to reign him in as they used to. Frankly, that's what most men need in a marriage: a good woman to reign them in!"

"Are you married yet, Ser Blackfish?"

"Nope. But that's because no woman can reign _me_ in! HAHAHA!!" 

Maybe Edmure should be looking to be like his uncle, and he seems like a great man and a great knight. Just as she was about to say that exactly, she saw a mop of auburn streak past her.

* * *

She had received letters from both Maron and Theon. 

Maron talks of his southron bride having glowed with her pregnancy and that she'll soon be an aunt within the year. Uncle Aeron had become a Drowned Priest and many have come to call him Damphair. Cousin Quenton is now squiring for his good friend Harras Harlaw. And Uncle Euron has been testing his patience, and has half a mind to exile him. 

Theon had befriended the young heir to Winterfell along with the newly-fostered Jonothor Targaryen; the second son to King Rhaegar. Life in Winterfell is strange but he's proving himself to be a skilled warrior. Well, skilled with a bow so far. Robb Stark and Jon Targaryen are both naturally talented with swords and horses. 

That last part just reminded her of Maron's words. Ironmen don't ride horses, they ride ships. Though, she had been trying to say the least. It just didn't come to her so well. Theon's likely a natural; he'd need to be a proper horseman if he's to stay in the North. 

"Hey. What'cha reading?" a voice props up. Edmure. 

"Something that's none of your business!"

"... Sorry. I'll ... just be on my way then ..."

"W-W-Wait a minute, hold up!" she nearly yelled, gripping his wrist. He then jerked and they looked at each other. Really look each other. He's been getting taller and putting on more muscle; it wasn't a great deal of muscle but he's still growing. The beginnings of a beard neatly marring his jaw with stubble. And his eyes ... have they always been that bright?

"I-I'm sorry. You just snuck up on me. I never did like surprises."

"It's alright. Father would always tell me that a surprise is not always a good thing; especially on the field of battle!" he said, with a mocking impersonation of his father. She laughed at that. He then looked at her strangely. 

"You, You have a nice laugh ..."

"Um, ... thank you?"

"Right. So, what were you reading? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Just my brothers telling me what's going on with them. Apparently, I'm going to be an auntie."

"It's your older one who's going to have the baby, right?"

"Of course, stupid! Theon's only eleven!"

"Alright, alright! Sorry, no need to bite my head off. And congratulations! And this is coming from someone who has experience in that department."

"Edmure ... I didn't know you were a girl. Don't worry, I can keep a secret!"

"Why yo ... o-oh! OK, funny. But I am an uncle.'

"So, what are the duties involved in being an aunt or uncle?"

"Well, I guess it's much like being an father or mother. But mostly doing the fun stuff. I can't really speak from experience anyways. I haven't really met my nieces or nephews. Haven't seen my sisters since they went off and got married."

Suddenly, she felt sad for him. There was no sign that Edmure had a mother. His sisters - Catelyn and Lysa, Blackfish mentioned - had been there by his side and taken care of him. He needed them. 

"Sorry bout that."

"Alright now. We need to stop saying that word or we're going to be saying it all night! But, um, I'm sorry about what I said before. About your ... father. That was unkind."

As angry as she was in that moment, she couldn't really begrudge him. "My father was not a good man. Barely even a kind one. No need for apologies. ... Sorry"

They then giggled, as they had already broken their promise. Well, she did anyway.

"Have you met your good-brothers? Do you know them well?"

"Well, Cat was supposed to marry Lord Eddard's older brother Brandon. But he ran off to join the Kingsguard at that tourney. I heard that Ser Jaime wasn't pleased, as he was supposed to be named but then Brandon impressed the Lord Commander and the King. I never really liked him anyway, but Ned - that's what he likes to be called - he seems like a good bloke. Serious but a good bloke."

"You think my brother Theon will be alright with him?"

"I know he will. Besides, he's got Cat by his side too. They won't steer him wrong. Lysa's husband is the heir to the Vale; Elbert Arryn. He's alright, I guess. Makes a lot of jokes, and he's the best swordsman in the Vale. Petyr didn't like it anymore than he liked Cat marrying Ned. Ned was kind enough to refuse his offer to duel until Petyr forced his hand ... and then lost one. He really shouldn't have tried to do the same thing with Elbert. Lysa's better off without him though. Petyr was fun but ..."

* * *

She'll never admit to Patrek or his cousin Androw, but Seagard may be one of her favorite places to be. Even though, it was built to ward off people like her. 

Edmure had a good taste in friends, if not a bit too bold. Patrek treated her rather warmly and even granted her her own ship. On occasion eyeing her her arse. _Sorry, Patrek, its not meant for the likes of you_. Marq was just if not more hot-headed than Edmure. But he matched it with his skill with sword and lance. Hugo Vance loved a good drink so much that at times, she thought him better with a sword when in his cups. His brother Ellery was better with a sword than him, whether he was in his cups or not. Tristan Ryger reminded her of his uncle Robin; tenacious in anything he set his mind to. Robert Paege was quite interesting to say the least; as his eyes seemed to wander around everywhere.

The whole lot of them and her had been having their fair share of ale at the Lazy Wind. All of them laughing as their wedding approached. Though, they might be in for surprise when the bedding came time. It hadn't been intentional. 

She had been improving on her horsemanship with Edmure's help. They had been racing, and then they found themselves kissing and the fucking on a grassy till. It was quite pleasant to say the least. She was a bit miffed that Edmure admitted that a particular "wench" he enjoyed fucking was "Fair" Walda Frey. That made no matter, if she tried to claim any child she had to be Edmure's bastard, she'll get what's coming to her. Then again, could be worse. He could have been fucking Gatehouse Ami, and she'll raise her portcullis for _anyone_. _I wonder if she'll raise it for me?_

The waitress had come and brought them their ale. She drank this drink quite often since Maron and his wife had helped renegotiate trade in many major ports.

"Have you had this mead? They make it on Pyke."

Edmure stroked his red mustache with a finger as she filled a goblet for him.

"Really? Well, then, I suppose I could sample it."

He took the goblet from her, and took a sip. She laughed and waved her hand, urging him on.

"No, don't sip it like an Arbor gold! Chug it! I thought your friends and father taught you to drink like a man as well as fight like one"

Though, his fighting had mostly improved due to their own sparring sessions, which they had in secret. At times, the end of it would result in a kiss or two.

Edmure, smiling, threw back his head and swallowed the whole goblet. He slammed the goblet on the table and took a deep breath.

"Strong stuff! You've been drinking this since it came here?"

Asha nodded, refilling her own goblet. She took a deep drink of mead and watched Edmure. He become very handsome, stocky, with a fierce auburn beard she could barely believe it at times. Though, I am no longer the skinny thing I was before.

 _He's sweet, and handsome, though not quite bright_ , she thought, _A woman could do worse._   _But there's definitely something there_...

Patrek then raised his goblet and spoke up. "The trout and the kraken united as one! Looks like things will be very sticky come the wedding!" Patrek jested.

All of them cheered and banged their goblets of ale all at once in celebration.

"First of all, I'm no lady. I am as strong as the islands I came from. Though, not nearly as barren!" she and the others than howled with laughter

"Well...you're an Ironborn, that's for sure," he said smiling, "And I can't say it would be unpleasant having you as a wife."

Asha laughed, and clinked her goblet against his. They both drank deeply, then lowered their goblets and looked at each other. Asha reached out and took his hand.

 _I think I can say the same of having you as a husband_ , she thought.


	96. Devout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancel decides to devote his life to a goddess

What was there to do now? Robb and Mother are gone. Father gone, because of my stupidity and selfishness. Arya, I wish I could take back everything I ever said to you. I'd give anything for you to call me stupid again. Bran and Rickon, I miss your sweet faces and smiles more than anything. Jon, oh, how I wish I could see you at least once. 

She didn't feel like eating nor did she feel like sleeping either. Every time she closer her eyes, she kept imagining what had happened from what she had heard. How they had cut her mother's throat open. How they felt crossbow bolts through her valiant brother. How they slaughtered his wolf, the ever-fearsome Greywind. How they mutilated their bodies an mockingly placed Greywind's head atop Robb's corpse while chanting "The King in the North". It made her all sick to her stomach. 

The godswood was the only place that gave her any comfort. It was the only place she could be alone with herself and her thoughts. And at times, her Florian would come to bring her comfort, the sweet fool that he was. 

"I had thought to find you here, my lady"

She suddenly turned to face this strange voice. Strange, yet familiar. She then recalled a young, strong, handsome blond-haired youth, who supposedly closely resembled his infamous cousin, the Kingslayer. His eyes a beautiful green but his blonde hair sandy rather than spun gold.  A youth she recalled to be humorless, self-assured, arrogant, and impatient. Ser Lancel Lannister, she remembered who had been knighted by Joffrey himself. 

But he looks so much different now.He is not as comely as before, his long sandy locks had been shortened and the temples of his head are armed with brittle white hairs one would find on a man thrice his age. In fact, he bore a certain look of sadness in his eyes. 

A lady's courtesy is her armour, she recalled. "Ser Lancel. It's wonderful to see you again." Though it begs the question as to why you are here, Lannister.

"It is wonderful to see you again as well. Though, I wish it were under different circumstances. I am sorry for what had happened to your mother, and your brother."

"Are you truly sorry? Last I checked, you despised the Starks. Shouldn't you hate me for having the blood of wargs within me, Ser Lancel?":she spat back with venom. She recalled how he proclaimed Robb's victory at Oxcross; deriding Robb and every other northman as mere savages feasting on the flesh of their wounded soldiers.

Lancel's face then looked heavy with hurt. Did he have a right to it? The only hurt he suffered was the injury he had succumbed to when the Queen jabbed at the arrow wound on his shoulder. And I helped heal him, I really am a stupid girl.

"I am sorry, truly. No one should have to go through that. I can't imagine losing all of my family like that. Though, I did lose my brother Willem in the war. He was only a squire."

He may not fully understand, but she can see he is trying to. "I see that you've healed from your wounds. That's quite the recovery, you must feel like a new man."

"It wasn't just my wounds that needed healing. I'm a different person now. I've found peace in the light of the Seven. My family has greatly grieved you. I have finally seen the lies that they have said against yours. You and your family have suffered and endured much. And I've realized there is only one reason to rectify that." He said. He then took out his sword from his hilt as well as a small dagger. 

I was as good as dead from the moment I entered King's Landing. Just do it. 

But instead of killing her, Lancel had cut his hand with the dagger and laid the sword above his head as he bowed. "Please, allow me to serve you, for now and always. I will shield your back, and give my life for yours should it come to that. I swear this to you, in the light of my Seven Gods and before the Old Gods of your father and all those before him." 

Was this a ploy? Before she can say anything, she saw tears slip from Lancel's green eyes. He truly _is_  repentant. 

" ... And I vow, that you shall always have a place by my hearth. And meat ... and mead at my table. And to ... to pledge that I shall no ask no service of you ... that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New" Though, almost nothing brings a Lannister dishonour. 

* * *

She thought that Lancel would have abandoned her. Yet, he followed her when Dontos and Petyr whisked her away from his kin. Petyr was apprehensive toward him, naturally. Yet, he managed to appeal to him by dying his coarse sandy hair a dirty brown color. She became Alayne Stone, daughter of Lord Protector of the Vale Petyr Baelish and he had become Ser Tommen Hill, the son of a sellsword and a Lannister of Lannisport. 

She thought that he would strike her at least once. But he never did. Just what had happened to him, exactly? He was certainly as humorless as before but nowhere near as arrogant, impatient or as self-assured as when he was a somewhat comely copy of his Kingsguard cousin. Though, he was still _somewhat_ comely to say the least. He guarded her day in and day out. Somehow, she came to trust that he would be by her side; a stalwart sentinel. 

He even managed to win the loyalty of her spoiled cousin Sweetrobin. Sweetrobin was a bit weary of him but grew to trust him; mostly because she found it in herself to trust Lancel. Lancel had become her constant shadow, watching over her. But it didn't get under her skin like the way Petyr did. It didn't unnerve her. It was quite comforting, like having her own Kingsguard. 

Though, it did unnerve Petyr to say the least. Often vexed as to why she had not killed her "pet rat".   
"If not for that dye in his hair, everything else about him screams Lannister, dearest. His Lannister green eyes, his pretty Lannister blonde locks, his Lannister blood coursing through his body. In the end, he'll be just like them. A snake, pretending to be a lion."

While Lancel is far from the lion his family proudly puts on their breasts, he is no snake either. He is honest, for the most part. She enjoys the simple conversations they have on their new lives masquerading as people they are not as well as the old lives they've held. Though, Lancel still looks uncomfortable when she mentions Winterfell. Though, she does not blame him for her family's destruction, she knows and feels that her words cannot dissuade him over the guilt he bears. 

* * *

She's surprised still that he had not abandoned her. Although, his own relation to the Lannisters certainly helped her case in winning the loyalty of the mountain men of the Vale who had helped her bring down Lord Littlefinger and his hold on the Vale. 

Now that they are no longer Tommen Hill and Alayne Stone, she finds more comfort in his presence than before. And it is reassuring when he reassures his own allegiance to her and her alone. No one else. He's as steadfast as Brienne and her "squire" Podrick, who was previously Tyrion's squire.

"I serve Lady Sansa Stark. I do not serve you," he had said to a knight who questioned his allegiance. 

He might just need a new moniker soon. Ser Lancel the Lion seems fitting now more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.tearsofblood.org/sansas-effect-on-lancel-lannister


	97. Fatherly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She realizes just how much she loves her boyfriend when her son accidentally calls him "Papa"

Her son was the perfect mix of her and his father: Drogo's perfectly tanned skin and the shape of his eyes, yet his eye and hair colour came from her: bright violet eyes and curly silver-blonde hair. It's a shame that Drogo was not here with her to watch Rhaego grow. He had been taken away from her all too soon; but she gave him the greatest gift she could ever have. And one that she'll always treasure.

She hadn't been expecting to have any semblance of a love life after Drogo's death, yet somehow she found it. 

Jon Stark seemed a bit stern when she first met him, but what was to be expected from a pediatrician's medical assistant? He was very responsible when he had conducted the check-up with Doctor Selmy. He made it fun for her two-year-old boy by distracting him with silly sounds and giving him a brightly colored lollipop right after. 

She had only meant to call on him if she had any other medical questions. Then out of the blue, after asking if Rhaego was underweight, she ended up asking him out on a date. And that was almost a year ago. Though, what had made her love life a bit easier was that she could call her boyfriend under the premise that her son was a bit under the weather. Though, only at the first few dates, and she did feel a bit difficult using her son as a scapegoat to call him up. But Jon didn't seem to mind. 

He was so good with Rhaego; hoisting him on his shoulders and pretending that he was a horse as Rhaego had whooped loudly. 

"Charge at Mommy, horsey! CHARGE!!"

Jon then playfully tackled at her, making her giggle. But suddenly, Rhaego leaped off Jon's shoulders and all but crashed at her. It was quite lucky that she landed on such soft grass. 

"Rhaego! Don't do that again! You practically scared Momma like that!"

Rhaego then let out a mischievous giggle before looking at her. "I'm sorry Momma."

"I'm sorry too. I should have realized he would do that. My youngest brother Rickon would often dive at my brother Robb like that."

"No, it's my fault as much as yours. I'm usually on top of such things that I could practically predict what sort of mischief he's up to."

"We've had a pretty long day today. How bout we get some ice cream? How do you like the sound of that, Rhaego?"

"Coool!!!" 

All of them had gotten a cone of vanilla soft-serve. After playing roughshod like that, it felt good just sitting on the park bench, enjoying the scenery and their ice cream. 

"This has been such a perfect day!" she said as she lazily stretched her legs, spilling a little bit of ice cream on her thigh. Jon quickly took note and wiped it off. It made her blush a bit. 

"It is. I'm glad you like it. How about you, little buddy?"

"Great day, Papa!!"

Papa? Since when did Rhaego have the courage to call Jon ... Papa?

Jon's skin turned as pale as a ghost. The rest of the day seemed rather bleak to say the least. It's not like they were married or anything. Yet, somehow that made the apparent distance between them all too real. When did her own son become so comfortable with Jon that he decided to call him Papa?

It wouldn't be a bad thing, really. Jon's eyes were often hard and his gaze stern, but they were like clouds that gave way for sunshine. 

Why would it be a bad thing really? He was so good with Rhaego; handling his mischievousness and keeping up with him. The way he hoisted him on his shoulder, soothing him as Rhaego fell asleep. 

He can be such a calming presence. She had spent more time talking about herself and Rhaego and he didn't seem bored at all; listening rather intently. He's good with me and for me as he is for my son. _**I love him**_. 

Just after Jon calmed Rhaego into his nap, he went to the door. I need to tell him. 

"Jon. Jon, I know it was a bit weir - "

"This has been a pretty great day."

"Yeah, it has been. But I want to tell yo - "

"It made me realize just how much I love you."

D-Did he just said that he loves me? Jon loves me! And he beat me to the punch.

"I love you too," she said as he leaned his lean body to hers for a kiss. 


	98. Remembrance (Gendry & Myrcella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella tells the world just what she likes about her brother

Everyone was staring. She didn't know what to say or do. 

"Go on, Cella. You got this." whispered the voice of her older brother Gendry. 

Gendry. Gendry was always there for her, even now on the most important day of their lives. 

But what to say? Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Even Dad, who never paid attention to a thing in their lives; or his for that matter. 

"Uh, um, Hi! My name is Myrcella Rohanne Baratheon, but to my closest family and friends, I'm Cella. I'm Gendry's sister, but you all know that."

Tommen looked at her, his eyes encouraging and sad. 

Shireen seemed to be the same, gently nodding her head at her. 

Uncle Renly didn't have a joke or a smiled prepared for once in his life; as expected of the situation. And Uncle Stannis seemed as serious and grim as ever. 

Arya. Oh, gods, Arya. Her sister Sansa was holding her hand strongly.

"Gendry was the greatest person that ever lived. He was the best older brother anyone could ever have. And I'm not saying that just because he's my older brother. Gendry often dropped me off and picked me up from my ballet class whenever Mom and Dad were ... busy with work. He even showed up to my rendition of Swan Lake for moral support. When Tommen was being picked on by a couple of older boys, Gendry tracked them down and beat them to a pulp. After that, Gendry taught Tom how to fight back so he would be strong and no one would pick on him." 

She noticed that Tom had smiled at that. She could barely get any other words out until she saw Gendry by her side, looking as handsome as ever. His normally messy jet-black hair neatly combed and his bright blue eyes shining. His lips mouthing "Go on". 

"Surprisingly enough, Gendry did what no older brother would ever do and set me up with a boy: his friend's little brother, Trystane Martell. Though, not without threatening to rip his balls off and feeding them to him personally," she said with a slight chuckle. She noticed Trystane smiling in the crowd. "When I was sent to boarding school, he managed to convince Trys that I was worth fighting for, and we've been together ever since. 

He helped Tom work out; jogging and boxing every other day. Believe it or not ladies, before my brother was the phenom you all know him as now, he was as pudgy as a marshmallow! He even passed on his love and skill of lacrosse and rugby to him. 

Me and Tom could talk to Gendry about everything and anything for ours on end. And he'd be there, listening and smiling. Even when he went off to college of Qohor, he made sure that we talked on Skype every Sunday. And when he came back to for the holidays, he made sure that they were the most fun days ever spent. 

My brother even did some ridiculous things too. To support my good friend Sansa during Fashion Week at our school, he died half of his hair pink. Once, he and his best friend Jon, had ran through a visiting campus screaming and shouting while having wine bottles taped to their hands. He once managed to convince his college adviser, Mr. Dondarrion, to go out and have a drink with him!"

Myrcella looked at the crowd yet again. "My brother had the innate gift of befriending anyone and seeing the good in them. He always brought interesting people into his life. Like our half-siblings we barely knew. Mya is a really cool sister whom I wished I met a long time ago, and Edric is insanely funny." Mya and Edric stood up briefly with slight smiles to their faces. 

"Gendry Harbert Baratheon was the best person to have around. He was a great friend, a good son and more than a beloved brother. He was the best brother anyone could have!" she said as the tears began to run down her cheeks. "A-And it pains my heart, knowing that he won't be around anymore. I-I love you big brother!!" she said, as her shoulders slumped and the tears roamed freely. 

**_Here lies Gendry Harbert Baratheon_ **

**_Great Friend,_ **

**_Devoted Son,_ **

**_Beloved Brother_ **

**_May he rest in peace_ **


	99. Rejoin (Edrick/Sansa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Houses Stark and Dayne are joined, and people will say that it was joined in the wrong pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Lovelorn; which inspired this

She is as beautiful as they say his aunt was.

He is as honourable as they say her father was.

Houses Stark and Dayne are joined, and people will say that it was joined in the wrong pair.

Dorne suits her better than she ever thought it would, but it doesn’t come as a surprise.

It has everything to do with Edrick, she knows, and how lovely he is with her all the time.

It has everything to do with the way his tongue collects the beads of sweat on the inside off her thigh and he smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking.

It was the smell of her that caught him- the warm sand-sea-sunshine scent of her hair, the sweet hint of lavender perfume behind her ear.

Their daughter is born with dusky dark hair and vibrant Tully eyes. Their son born with her vibrant Tully eyes and flaxen nearly silver-gold hair. 

Her eyes are everything Edrick never knew he needed in life, whether they’re bright with laughter when he whispers some terrible, debauched thing he wants to do to her later on at dinner, or shining with pride when little Arra takes her first steps and little Beric calls her “Mama” for the first time, or dark with desire when he does that terrible, debauched thing, or dull and sleepy when she leans her head against his shoulder after a long day of keeping Starfall and the children - he looks at her eyes, huge in her face and the colour of cornflowers and bluebells all at once, and he feels as if he can do anything. 

_Seven Hells does she know what she does to him._

In the gown of the darkest purple she glows and she whirls around her head arching back in laughter, her gown slipping slightly off her shoulders. He knows that she had lost much, but to hear her laugh is a godsend. Her laugh, like her hair, is the most beautiful thing in the world. 

He gets under her skin with a simple look. A simple touch. 

She had thought that she would never marry. She did not want to see another knight in her life, for knights, the one's she had held so much stock in, did not exist. Well, mayhaps some existed, trying to uphold their vows. Like Edrick does.

But mayhaps its because of the ghosts that surround them. She supposes they both know about ghosts. Always, over her shoulder is the spirit of her mother; once beautiful and lovely, then wrathful and vengeful;  _the Mother Merciless, the Hangwoman, Lady Stoneheart._

When they see him they see the sword the milky white that he wields. They see silvery-blonde hair and eyes that are too dark and deep to be truly blue;  _the Sword of the Morning._

Both are so constricted and broken in their own way; everyday a part of themselves had been chipped away to be replaced by those long dead, that it was natural that they come together; for it was together that their ghosts melted into the walls.  

They are not their ghosts. She is neither the Hangwoman nor is he the Sword of the Morning of past. They are not Lord Eddard and Lady Ashar come again. Mayhaps, it could have been their story, but that is of no consequence. No, this is their story, and they'll make sure that it continues to be like one.


	100. The Watcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now her watch has ended.

He often wondered about her. His mother. 

Was she high-born? Was she beautiful? Did my father, Eddard Stark love her? 

The Last Commander of the Nigh'ts Watch had finally gotten his answers. His mother was high-born, a great beauty, and Eddard Stark loved her greatly. 

No man could not love his sister so much that he risk everything for her son. 

The shock was enough for him to be put into a fainting spell. More so when he had ... died and had been brought back to life. Whether by the grace of the Old Gods or Lady Melisandre's Lord of Light, he could not tell. 

When Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch had told him of what had happened at Dorne, he did not want to believe in it. Jon was struck dumb as revelation after revelation hit him. He had oft heard tales of Lady Lyanna Stark, but he never imagined that she was his mother. 

In his wildest imaginations, he often imagined his mother singing to him in his dreams. Songs from the North, a strange song from the south, the songs were all different but the voice was the same. A bit hoarse yet a yielding softness to it. 

He entered the portion of the crypts he was most familiar with, the parts he would visit as a child. Walking past the stone statues of kings and later lords, Jon inspected each of them to insure that the iron swords across their laps were whole and sharp, without a speck of rust.

At the end of the path, the sculptures become more familiar. Rickard Stark, flanked by his two children, was passed over. Jon could not help but continue just a little further in to look at his family.

Eddard Stark sat somber upon his carved throne, the effigy doing a poor job of capturing the kindness that would often linger in his sad eyes. The greatsword across his lap was no Ice, but it was of the kind that his uncle would have preferred.

Jon turned back to the only female statue in the chambers. Only Northern kings and later lords were entombed here, making Lyanna Stark an anomaly.  _Although, she was for however short a time the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, if Lord Howland's story is to be believed. Never crowned, but wed to a king and mother to a prince_.

Unlike the others effigies, Lyanna sat with her hands crossed over her heart instead of braced against her throne. Jon pulled the parcel from his back and unbound a freshly forged blade, much like the one he commissioned for Arya, from its fabric coffin. Depositing the sheath atop the vault itself, Jon took the blade in his hand and laid it across her knees.  _She wielded a small sword better than Benjen, and unseated knights in a tourney. And from what his Fath- Uncle had told him, she would have likely wielded a sword in hand rather than a pair of needles to pleasantly sew like a "proper lady". Surely she would wish to defend the realm as much as any man down here._

Lady Lyanna Stark. The face he had so often written off as a bygone aunt, long with high cheek bones, stared sightlessly into the abyss.

“The man who raised me never told me about you, but he did keep his promise,” Jon told her. “Your friend the crannogman told me either, how strongly you tried to hold me as you were fading away from this world.”

Lyanna Stark made no response.

“I wish I could have known you, mother. But I know that you loved me, enough to have your brother risk everything for me to have a family and a home,” he said.

He began to recall the brief flurry of images he had seen when he was in his beloved direwolf and such. The sights of Winterfell long ago, with Uncle Benjen and ... his mother sparring in the godswood. Lyanna and Rhaegar's small marriage ceremony in the Isle of Faces. How she promised Lord Eddard to take care of him.

The brief vision he witnessed of her, reaching out to him telling him just how much she was proud of him. He had wondered so much. But he knew even more that he was not unloved; that she cared tremendously. He suddenly felt tears in his eyes, lamenting that he could have stayed a moment longer with her. A moment longer to feel her embrace; whether it was in a dream, vision or some other phenomenon he could not explain. Instead, he looked to her once more with conviction and standing tall and proud; as a Stark he wished to be and the son she wanted him to be.

"And now, your watch has ended ... Mother"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!! MY ONE HUNDREDTH CHAPTER!!


	101. Promises (Catelyn & Jon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn decides to keep her promise in giving and raising Jon Snow as a Stark. The problem being is that Jon won't allow for it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's about eight to nine years old in this story.

"Jon Stark."

The name sounded so foreign to Catelyn Stark as she said it, but she read it over and over again with her husband Ned at her side, the two of them feeling different things as they stared down at the proclamation sent by King Robert Baratheon himself. She had hated the boy, she had hated what he was, and she had hated how many times his stranger's eyes had reminded her of her husband's betrayal of her, but she had made a promise to the gods both Old and New, and a promise to the Heavens is something that few seldom turn their backs on. The Stranger had stayed his dark and terrifying hand, and the gods had answered her prayers in saving the life of a little boy named Snow, and so Catelyn now had a price to pay; a price that could only be paid in love.

She stood up from her chair slowly then, never having expected the raven from King's Landing to have come so quickly. She wondered what her family in Riverrun would think when they found out that she planned to raise the still young Jon as her son, that she would be the mother she always should have been to him, and she wondered what the other noblewomen of the other noble Houses would think, and if any of them would be able to look into the eyes of a boy named Snow or Storm or Flowers, and still be able to call them son. She wondered what Ned thought, what he felt in his heart, what he had felt in the deepest pools of his soul, when she had gone to him the morning after that terrifying night where the Stranger had loomed over Jon. Most of all though she wondered about Jon, about that boy who still thought that his name was Snow. Would he believe her when she told him that she loved him? Would he always carry that doubt, or that shame, or that resentment with him to the contrary in the back of his mind? She swallowed hard at the thought, hard truths being called so for a reason.

Catelyn turned to leave, but stopped when she felt Ned gently grab onto her arm. He was looking away from Robert's letter for the first time since they had opened it, and the Lady of Winterfell was surprised for a moment, seeing just the barest hint of a smile on her husband's normally stoic face, with eyes staring back at her that were more misty than she had ever seen on Ned. She could see that he was holding things back, things that she knew that her husband would be able to let go when he was finally alone again. She wasn't sure what these things were, whether it was tears, or smiles, or prayers to the weirwood trees of his ancient gods, perhaps even all of the above, but it was in the next moment that she finally understood that she had done the right thing, Ned's voice cracking for the first time since the night that she had married him.

"Thank you."

All she offered was a smile before she left to go find Jon, no words ever being enough for that moment in time.

She already knew where Jon would be at this time of the day, and Catelyn Stark held her head up high as she exited the castle of Winterfell, heading in the direction of Ser Rodrik and his training ground. The words of her House were 'Family. Duty. Honor.', and now was the first time that Catelyn had ever felt that she was truly living up to them. Jon would be her son, and she would be his mother. By the grace and word of King Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, Jon Snow would become Jon Stark.

Catelyn knew she had been right about Jon's location the moment that the clashing of wooden swords came within her hearing. She walked slowly, her life and the life of her newest son only one conversation away from changing forever, and she felt a lump grow inside her throat, wanting to lodge itself there forever and wanting to forget that she had ever made a promise to the gods in the first place. There was a chill in the air that morning, a cold that seemed appropriate for how Lady Stark had felt the moment that she had read the letter from Robert, and she took a moment to look around at the different people who went about their daily lives at Winterfell, all of them being just as clueless as Jon about what was about to happen.

Robb and Jon stopped fighting as soon as they saw Catelyn approach them, and both Ser Rodrik and Theon Greyjoy looked towards her, the two of them unsure about why the Lady of Winterfell had decided to grace them with a visit. Robb's eyes met her own, obviously curious as to what exactly was the reason for her presence, but the boy said nothing, Catelyn sure that he was simply waiting for his mother to announce it herself. Ser Rodrik and the ward Theon Greyjoy were equally as quiet as was her oldest son, and their eyes rested on her as well, but Catelyn decided to ignore the three of them for the moment, instead deciding to focus on Jon Stark, even if the boy had lowered his head from the moment that she had come to them.

"Jon," she said in a tender voice that surprised all those who heard it, "I would like to have a talk with you."

She could see the fear in the boy's eyes when he looked up at her, and the surprise and worry on the faces of the others, with the exception of Theon giving one of his famous smirks, and it was then that Catelyn decided to do something that was even more surprising than the tenderness she had shown her husband's bastard.

She smiled at him.

_For a promise to be kept._

"What is it that you want to do in life, Jon Snow?" Catelyn asked the young boy, and she gave him a curious look as she did so, knowing that her last words were going to be the final time that she would ever call this boy Snow.

She saw the hesitation in his face, and she spoke again with softer words than before. "I promise I won't get mad no matter what you say."

There was still reluctance, that much was easy enough to see, but even so, Catelyn knew that the boy was going to speak his mind. She may have been cold to Jon, she may not have been the mother to him that she swore to Gods both Old and New that she was now going to try to be, but if there was one thing that Jon knew about her, it was that she always told the truth. The boy met eyes with her again, but this time they looked different than before. In a way she had not ever seen, Jon looked proud and fierce. And for a moment little Jon Stark reminded her of Brandon.

"I want to join the Night's Watch."

In another time and place, those would have been words that Catelyn would have rejoiced at. She knew the oath well enough to know that saying them would mean that Jon would relinquish any of his non-existent claim to Winterfell, and that that would also mean that any of her children, or Robb's children, would be safe from any kind of rebellion. After what she had promised however to save Jon from the Stranger's hand, they now sounded hollow to her.

She responded quietly, but she kept her tone stern, preemptively quelling any of the protests she expected. "I won't let you do that."

_A mother protects her son._

Catelyn lifted a finger to silence the boy when a flash of contempt came across his face, and she continued on, knowing that her son needed to hear what she had to say. "At least not yet. That was something that you decided as Jon Snow. So tell me, what is it that you want to do in life, Jon Stark?"

Jon did not say anything, but he did something. Something she should have suspected. He ran off. 

"Jon? Jon, where are you going?"

She ran all around the keep, asking Jory Cassel the captain of the guard to find him. Why did she think everything would be different? 

A thought then occurred to her. Jon was very much like Ned in so many ways. There was only one place he could go off to. So, she went off to the godswood. 

Though she had been a wife to Eddard Stark for nearly ten years, she felt strange coming into the godswood. The godswood in Riverrun never haunted her as much as it did Winterfell's; mayhaps the presence of the Old Gods is stronger in this one? 

As she came closer, she could see him by the melancholy face of the weirwood heart tree. Jon's face looked nearly solemn as always, but with a little sense of curiousness. He held up a bright red leaf close to his hand with a small smile on his face. Somehow, he quickly got wind that she was there watching him. His eyes looked at her, his eyes as fierce as the wolf sigil the Starks had taken. 

Just as she could get close to him or even call his name, Jon Stark had run past her with his stubby little legs. 

Why is he running?

* * *

She could barely understand now. But she had a promise to uphold, and she was going to uphold it. Jon is her family now. 

She tried to make some idle talk with him in the Great Hall when they all feasted, but he would then move to the servant's tables willingly. In fact, Jon Stark seemed to take great measures in avoiding her altogether. What am I to do?

As she headed toward her chamber's, she heard fairly loud voices talking. Ned. And ... Jon. She knows that she shouldn't eavesdrop but they are discussing things quite loudly. Though, she could only hear a couple of words.

" ... a mother to you, Jon."

" ... so?"

" .... her ... respect." 

"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER!!"

That she had heard clearly. I ... was never a mother to you before. But I ...

" .... promise ... Gods ... you."

"I DON'T WANT HER!! I WANT _MY_ MOTHER!!"

That had hurt her. And likely hurt Ned too. Even though he never talked about Jon's mother. This nameless beauty he would never speak of. 

“Why can I not know her? Why can I not see her?”

“Jon - “

"WHY IS IT THAT ROBB GETS HIS OWN MOTHER BUT I DON'T? I WANT MY MOTHER!! 

Catelyn felt her heart twist painfully at the anger in the boy's voice, and, for the first time since his birth, she felt truly ashamed at how she had treated Jon. She  could have been kinder to him, could have smiled on that day when he gave her flowers on her name day or offered to sing him to sleep the way she did the others. She could have done better by Jon, even when when he was still a Snow.

The door burst and Jon ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Ned came out of the room, letting out a long and heavy sigh. He then took note that she was close by. 

"Mayhaps ... this was a mistake," he sighed heavily as he rubbed his temples. 

No, it was not your mistake Ned. It was mine. Mine and mine alone. She tentatively held her husband held her husband for what seemed like forever. "I'll go find him," she mumbled at him.

Jon was not in the godswood nor was he in his chambers. What am I thinking? A mother knows her children. I don't know Jon. I never did. I never wanted to. 

It practically pained her, but she asked Robb as to where his brother may be. Though, Robb practically narrowed his eyes in suspicion before telling her. "At the First Keep." The First Keep is a squad and round drum tower taller than it appears, decorated with weatherworn gargoyles. She took note that he seemed more sullen then ever as he was by the gargoyles. 

Almost immediately, Jon took note that she was in his proximity. He _glowered_ at her. He wouldn't do that if he were still Jon Snow, said a voice in her head that sounded so much like Petyr. It unnerved her. As she got closer, he mumbled something. The closer she got, the louder she heard it. "Go. Away."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jon. Not ... not until you talk to me."

"Why? Why does it matter?"

"Because you are my son."

"I don't think so, my lady."

Why did it unnerve her so much that she said it?

"I promised the Old Gods and New, that I would be a mother to you. Now and alw - "

"You promised. Not me."

For a moment, his anger at her reminded her so much of Edmure's innate stubbornness. 

She then got closer to him, and just as he began to glower at her, she did something that she had never done before; she hugged him. She felt him resist her at first until he began to feel rather lax. 

"I am sorry, if I had not been a mother to you. But, promise or not, I am here now. And a mother protects her children, no matter what. For now and always, I will be your mother."

Her son's anger soon faded away, instead being replaced with confusion. He looked at her unsure of what she said or meant, and for the second time that day Catelyn smiled at the boy who was now named Jon Stark. Neither of them had any clue as to what awaited Jon in his life after today, but perhaps they could figure it out together.


	102. Wonder (Allyria/Beric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the war rages on, Allyria Dayne of Starfall thinks of her sister, her nephew, her past and her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that woman's hair.

She was just a girl of two-and-ten years old when she had met him. Her betrothed; Beric Dondarrion, the heir to Blackhaven. Though he was a bit older than her by about five years, he was quite handsome. His resplendent red-gold hair practically shimmered and moved like living flames. His eyes, as beautiful and blue as the seas. Captivating.

But her brother Aron said that he could not easily giver her to "a pretty face". He sought out other perspective husbands for her: the Allyrion's, the Manwoody's, the Vaith's, Lord Hightower's youngest son Humfrey, an Estermont, even Lord Tyrell's eldest son and heir Willas. In the end, the young man who captured her heart and invaded her dreams was set to be her husband. She could not wait to marry him. 

Within moons, they begin to write one another. She tells him of the times she has spent with the Princess of Dorne and her cousins in the Water Gardens as well as the coming and goings at Starfall. He tells her of the tourney he attended last with his father, the Dornish marches (which she knows much already), and his plans to be one of the greatest knights in Westeros. And one day crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. 

Since Aron passed shortly after the betrothal was made, she often asked about her nephew Edrick. Beric was a promising knight, and he often told her how he made sure that Edrick was as comfortable as possible. 

When she becomes six-and-ten, that is the day she dreams of. The day of her wedding. Beric looked even more handsome than she first saw him. His hair shinier and his eyes livelier. She feels so giddy when the septon states they are now husband and wife. It's almost everything she has dreamed of. Some Dornish lords and lords from the stormlands attend; lavish but not to large and grand. Lord "Red" Ronnet Connington makes a jape about Dornishwoman and tries to call for the bedding until Beric approached him and jabbed him in the throat, leaving him heaving like a dying frog. 

As much as she fears and expects the bedding to be like, Beric is courteous even then. He is so sweet and gentle all throughout. Often asking if he's being to rough or hurting her, While a bit aggravating, it's sweet nonetheless.

When he decides to prove his worth at the Hand's tourney, she wishes him the best of luck. She didn't expect that he would be leading men into war. He says he's to apprehend the Mountain that Rides, but she knows that it will escalate into war. No one simply apprehends the Mountain, the man every man, woman and babe in Dorne curses with each and every breath they have. She knows it's likely the last time she'll see Beric.   

Her belly had just started to swell when Edric sent her the raven bearing news of Beric’s first death. That had confused her greatly. But what mattered was that he was alive, somehow. And somehow, he will come back to her. 

Months turns into a year. In that year, her head is filled with worries and her belly filled out more and more. She eventually brings forth a son with her dark purple eyes and Beric’s hair into the world. I wish Beric could see you. She chooses a name as strong and honourable as a man she wished she knew. I can only hope Arthor will be as honourable as Arthur. Tall, strong, and honourable as him.

When she hears of Beric's "final" death, everything around her shatters. And her heart breaks. Looking at little Arthor and contemplating raising him without Beric, Allyria can almost understand why Ashara chose to jump. She wishes and yearns for the more simple days when she was still a child of spring dreaming of summer. 

_I want to go back to Starfall. I wish I was Queen of Love and Beauty like Beric promised me. Splash in the Water Gardens with no care in the world. Surprise Quentyn Martell with a kiss once again and see him blush madly. Ride, hawk and practice with my bow like I used to before when Aron allowed her. I wish Beric was by my side._

But those are the dreams and wishes of a girl of summer. Though she is in Dorne, winter has claimed her.


	103. Kneel (Tormund/Maege)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once separated now united.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I was in me Ruddy Hall, with only a cask o’ mead to keep me company and nothing to do but drink it. The more I drank, the more I got thinking about this woman lived close by, a fine strong woman with the biggest pair of teats you ever saw. She had a temper on her that one, but oh, she could be warm too, and in the deep of winter a man needs his warmth.
> 
> “The more I drank, the more I thought about her, and the more I thought the harder me member got, till I couldn’t suffer it no more. Fool that I was I bundled meself up in furs from head to heels, wrapped a winding wool aroud me face, and set off to find her. The snow was coming down so hard I got turned around once or twice, and the wind blew right through me and froze me bones, but finally I come on her, all bundled up like I was.
> 
> “The woman had a terrible temper, and she put up quite the fight when I laid hands on her. It was all I could do to carry her home and get her out o’ them furs, but when I did, oh, she was hotter than even I remembered, and we had a fine old time, and then I went to sleep. Next morning when I woke the snow had stopped and the sun was shining, but I was in no fit state to enjoy it. All ripped and torn I was, and had me member bit right off, and there on me floor was a she-bear’s pelt. And soon enough the free folk were telling tales of this bald bear seen in the woods, with the queerest pair o’ cubs behind her. Har!” He slapped his meaty thigh. “Would that I could find her again. She was fine to lay with, that bear. Never was a woman give me such a fight, nor such strong sons neither.”

She remembered the last time she had encountered him. Before his hair had gone as white as snow, it had been a bright coppery red. The people of the North often called hair like that to be "kissed by fire". He had come in a small boat to her home. it was not like any songs anyone would sing anywhere. 

He had tried to take her away from the fresh pines and ocean smell that surrounded Bear Island. Nearly hoisting her up on his rather broad shoulders, in spite of his somewhat- less than tall figure. She fought him off hardly. Nearly bit off his ear. She remembered ending up in a hut somewhere near the Frozen Shore. She tried to fight him off there too. 

None of them remember what had happened in between. How they went from fighting each other off to kissing and touching one another. Fucking madly and almost longingly. His large hands touching and groping all around her. Just as she was putting on her furs, he grunted from his sleepy haze and lustfully licked his lips. 

"That might've been one of the greatest fucks I've ever had! Even if you nearly tore my cock off. Though, it's still proud and mighty! HAR!"

It was almost off-putting just how casual he made it seem. But he was a wildling. And strangely enough, she found herself giggling silly because of it. Tormund his name was. One of the strongest wildling chieftain's he's claimed to be. And she found herself to be quite at ease with him. They talked at length for quite some time until she had to leave. 

Before she knew it she was with child. At first, she was fearful of the life the child may have. But the Mormonts were not like most noble families. Her great-grandmother had been an only child and had a child by some unknown man. When she asked her own father about it, he simply told her that many strong she-bears in her house had often looked to find their own mates. It was then she became more familiar and understanding with the lore surrounding the Mormonts. 

Skinchanging is a rare trait. Childhood stories told of the Starks of old, who united the North through conquest not just for the land, but to marry other houses known for skinchanging in order to hoard that ability for themselves. It had been more difficult for House Mormont to sustain their abilities. There were no more Warg Kings to conquer and marry, and Bear Island is small and out of the way, besides. So, many bears are sent across the Bay of Ice when it freezes over each winter and wander until we find a skinchanger amidst the wildlings. And they became the fathers to the cousins and nieces of the primary branch of House Mormont.

A deal had been struck centuries ago with the clans of the Frozen Shore that the girls would belong to House Mormont and on occasion a boy or two should their be a succession crisis, whilst any other boys would be raised amongst their father’s folk. Amongst the free folk, as Tormund preferred to be called rather than just wildlings. 

It was for the practicality of it, she often told herself. Yet, she hadn't been thinking of practicality when they found themselves in each other's embrace. If she could have, she would not have honoured tradition and kept all of her children with her. But to keep the traditions of her house was her duty, and as folly as this was, Maege Mormont was always a woman of duty. 

It is now she wishes that she kept one of the boys and known him. She had given Tormund one of their daughters. Only one though. Though, Munda took more after him than her. It was probably better that way.

Nearly all her family is gone now. Her fierce Dacey, butchered in that monstrous disaster called the Red Wedding. Torwynd, who was supposedly a sweet and unassuming boy, perished at the hands of the denizens of cold and darkness. Dormund, slain at the hands of one of Stannis Baratheon's soldiers. 

All that remained was Alysane and her own cubs. Toregg; tall and strong. Lyra; who had captured the heart of Old Lord Locke's heir. Jorelle; who somehow ended up courted by a brave soliderly crannogman and the tall but scholarly Hoster Blackwood. Munda; who was now expecting a child with her lover "Longspear" Ryk. Dryn; who looked like his father in miniature; a chunky boy, with short legs, thick arms, and a wide red face. And little Lyanna, just as strong and fierce as she remembered her namesake to be, becoming quite friendly with young Rickon Stark.

Tradition, circumstance and distance were the things that kept them apart. She wouldn't admit it before, but time does help in understanding things. I love that bluthering fool. He still had that stupid wide-toothed grin of his. 

Now, they are here together, pledging their fealty to the King and Queen of the True North.


	104. To Be Tamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five husbands and suitors that Arya could have had and married and the one she would.

_Rakharo_

She had to admit that they had little things in common at first. 

The first thing they bonded over was their innate love of horses and riding. He had admitted that he liked how spirited and fierce she is. A true warrior woman rather than a pretty blushing maiden, though she knows he'd likely enjoy them too. He has a rather commanding presence that she can respect. Although, she does find the bells in his hair a bit silly.

Rakharo had even granted her dragonbone bow that belonged to one of his fallen companions. He had even taught her to shoot arrows on horseback. 

Their small holdfast in the North was modest. A small amount of servants and plenty of acres to ride along. Riding along the Frostfangs. It was their favorite past time. 

 

_Toregg_

After Father, Robb, Jon and the Hound, he might have been the tallest man she'd seen. His voice as deep and strong as a battle commander and taller than any man she'd seen. 

The one thing they had agreed on was their own love and devotion for Jon. Toregg and his father are his most stalwart supporters. 

The first thing he had done when she met him was "steal" her. She had thought him wanting to rape her, and she kicked him everywhere from his face to his balls. At the end of it, his face was practically bloody and he was smiling and laughing. 

In some ways, Toregg reminded her of Jon, the way he inquired about his younger brother Dryn. When he had a chance to see him, he was almost as fierce and protective as an alpha wolf. The pack must survive. He is truly northern. 

Maybe having their own pack would not be so bad.

 

_Wex Pyke_

She almost wants to hate him for what he is; ironborn. But that would be wrong. He was ironborn, but he might've been the kindest one she had known and met.

Wex has a tangle of dark brown hair with an almost feral face. His mouth wide, his nose sharp and a pointed chin. It almost makes him look like a feral sea creature; like a shark almost. 

Although he cannot speak, he does learn quickly and is quite adept with daggers. Though, she believes that some of Theon may have rubbed off of him. Wex always has some kind of grin adorning his face. Although, he couldn't tell her what the jape was when it was clear that he wanted to. 

The Bastard of Lordsport is undoubtedly interesting. Not only armed with skills as a scout and a skilled enough fighter, but like many of his people, he loves the open sea. She could understand it as well as see his desire to be a deckhand or even a captain of his own ship. Hell, his fighting skills were becoming stronger as he was training under the watchful eye of Theon's trusted mentor Dagmer Cleftjaw. He almost reminds her of Theon when he notches an arrow. But he doesn't look like a babe swinging a rattle when he swings a blade.

It wouldn't be so bad if they just got on a ship and just left Westeros if they wanted to. There is always the _Sea Bitch_ , Theon's ship which still hung by the Stony Shore. They could do it. 

 

_Devan Seaworth_

He reminded him of herself in a way. A boy with great big dreams on being a knight. And now he was one, an Onion Knight. But he took it in stride. 

Skilled with a blade, a lance, small knives and daggers and a mace, he's the picture perfect knight that Sansa once dreamed of. Sansa would likely complain that Devan should be more comelier instead of looking like a commoner. But Devan's father and mother are relatively common folk. She rather liked Devan's plain face. Even his armor and adornments were rather plain as well. 

 _Knights need to uphold their vows, not just stand around a look pretty_ , Devan told her. His father and Stannis Baratheon had taught him much on practicality. He had mentioned that he wished to be the first Onion Knight of the Kingsguard, until her new friend Shireen had convinced him otherwise. Shireen all but commanded Devan to "find someone to make you happy".

When she told him that she didn't need some pretty knight like in the stories protecting her and that she could hold her own, she had expected him to reprimand her. Why wouldn't he? His family now ruled over Crackclaw Point in the newly reconstructed castle of the Whispers. Instead, he laughed. _My lady, I'd expect no less from a she-wolf._

We'll protect one another.

 

_Jojen Reed_

It had been a gift to be honest, as he had many tales of her brother Bran. And she had always wanted to encounter a crannogman since she made her journey to the south. Jojen is short and slim with unusually deep green eyes, wearing green-colored clothing. She did find it a bit humorous that they are both of relatively matching height. 

He believed that he should have died; that he was fated to die. But he was here now; here and alive. The Gods must have seen it fit for him to live and see and rule over his father's lands. They had told him, "Not today". Mayhaps he didn't listen to them closely. 

Greywater Watch had been fascinating. The castle was built on and around a massive weirwood tree. Its roots had been twisted and formed around the pillars, columns, and walls of stone. Over the many long ages since the weirwood was planted and formed into the island, smaller trees of various varieties, as well as grass and vines, had taken root there as well. She took an instant liking to Meera, and would be saddened to see her go. She claimed that a Liddle had been courting her, but she recalls that she kept blushing around Jon. 

Jojen had not been a warrior in any way. In spite of having traveled so far, and beyond the Wall, he had not picked up any sort of combat skill. She had taken to training him herself. She taught him how to use a spear and even archery. In spite of never having done it before, he had natural skill. 

She vowed that she would never marry and be a lady but it was not like that. Jojen treated her well, courteously even. He not only had the greensight but the true sight; truly seeing things and truly seeing her.

 

_Gendry **Baratheon**_

No matter what, he had haunted her. Even when she was at the House of Black and White, he had invaded her thoughts and dreams. A innately stubborn bull-headed boy with eyes as bright as the sky reflecting into the sea and hair as dark as coal or ink. 

She thought that she would not be Arya Stark again. She had thought that he would not recognize Arya Stark, but she had been wrong. He had recognized Arya Stark; seeing with the true seeing. She had barely recognized him in his new finery and title. 

Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. It sounded almost foreign on her tongue. The armour that adorned him made him seem stranger too; enameled green armor with a helm adorned with a pair of golden antlers. His speech was still quite rough-hewn but spoke with an clearer air of courtesy and authority. 

He's always been strong but he has grown more than she had last seen him. Almost as tall as his father; King Robert, if not an inch shorter than him. A dark and thick close-cropped beard adorned his jaw. He looked the very inch of a lord; the kind that Sansa would like and deem a knight worthy of her songs and tales. 

But that wasn't him. Gendry knew he was. _I'm Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, that's who I am. Not this Lord Gendry shite they keep spewing._ He still knew who he was, and surprisingly knew just who she was. That she was still Arya Stark of Winterfell, no matter what kind of mummery and lies she'd use. 

I've spent so much time running and killing, I feel almost empty. But not when she was with Gendry. For the first time since she left Winterfell as a child, she doesn't feel empty. She feels whol and alive. 

And she'll never say this to Sansa, Rickon or even Jon, but she feels right at home being the Lady of Storm's End, holding her little boy by his tiny hand.


	105. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya realizes he no longer has a place for her.

Westeros. Home. I'm home, she thinks. 

The riverlands seem to be thriving once again. The land is not filled with corpses and fires. It was green again. 

But first, I need to eat. As she makes her way up north of the Trident, she takes note of the ruby ford. She briefly remembers once looking for rubies there once. But she had been a foolish girl. 

It is then she sees an inn at the crossroads. It is three stories tall with turrets and chimneys made of white stone. Its south wing is built upon pilings that rise over a bed of weeds. On the north side there is a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower. The building is surrounded by a low wall of broken white stones. It smelled of warmth and hearth. And also freshly-cooked rabbit and stew. 

As she took a seat, a girl about her age with loose brown hair approached her. She looked to be her age and her brown eyes looked quite shrewd. 

"Might I help you?" she asked with a voice fit to be a battle commander. She almost frightens me. Almost. 

"I'd just like a hot meal and maybe a room for the night."

"The meal's about 7 silvers. Room's 3 three dragons."

Arya then reached into her pouch and paid the young girl. She still eyed her warily. But then her shrewd brown eyes turned kind. "Welcome. Enjoy your time here. Where you from exactly? You look Westerosi but your accent's a bit strange"

"I am from Westeros, but I spent much time in Braavos. I learned to fight, to be stronger." she said. She seemed like the trustworthy sort. It made no matter if she told her. 

Suddenly, she heard a burst of laughter. A child's laughter. The little boy nearly collided into her chair but managed to stop himself with his small quick feet. 

She knew him. From the moment she saw the boy. His hair was as dark and soft as a crow's wing. His eyes as blue as the Summer Sea. He was his child. 

"Arrec! Don't run away from Momma!" said the boy's mother. Rather than heed her, the boy - Arrec, his name was - simply giggled and put his hands in his mouth. Devious little urchin. 

That devious little boy almost reminded her of herself. How she was constantly underfoot; and earning herself that moniker. 

"I hope that my son didn't cause you any trouble," the young woman said sheepishly. She was clearly a woman; fairly tall, rather plain-faced but pretty, ample curves on her body, a kind smile and the same brown hair and eyes as the girl. They were likely sisters. 

"It's quite alright. So, what's the name of this inn?"

"Many people have thought to give it some new names since it lost it's old one. The Gallows Inn. The Crossbow Inn. Orphan Inn. None of them sound to inviting though ..." she said with a slight chuckle and faltered. She then had her sights on her son, smoothing back his luscious dark hair. 

"You could just call it the Bull's Inn, all things considering," the girl said with a smirk on her mouth. "Oh! Where are my manners? My name's Willow Heddle, this is my sister Jeyne, and this little one is my nephew Arrec," she said as she then picked up her nephew, playfully swinging him around.

"So, I take it you're married?" she bluntly asked Jeyne as she looked worriedly at her son. 

"Yes. He works at the smithy we have. Right now, he's off hunting. Please, allow me to show you to your room," Jeyne said as she reached for Arrec who now waved his arms for his mother. 

He made a life for himself. It's good that he's found some happiness for himself. So, why is that I'm sad? 

The room she's been given is quite comfortable. The bed was fairly large, and she hadn't slept in such a comfy featherbed in so long. 

She found herself curious then. How was he like? How much did he change? Would he notice how much I've changed? Suddenly, she heard a roar of laughter. She then went down to see what it was. 

The tables were filled with several men holding up tankards of ale while laughing. By the side of a skinny freckled man was a helm in the shape of a goat. She would have went for her blade had she not immediately recognized Anguy. He had grown a bit muscular. Right by his side was the person she was looking for. He had reclaimed his bull-shaped helm; she didn't think he'd get it back. A large curved sword like a scythe on his hip and a warhammer by his seat. He was now more taller and more muscular than she could imagine. A dark and thick close-cropped beard adorned his jaw. His face as serious as ever but his eyes remained the same; bright as ever. 

She then felt a blush creep about her cheeks. She then pinched herself; I'm not a stupid little girl or a prim and proper lady. 

Little Arrec came running about again, only this time, he was running toward his father. Gendry scooped up his little boy, threw him in the air like it was nothing and giving him a great big bear hug. He was smiling even more now. 

Jeyne then came to him and he pulled her to him. There lips touching and moving together in tandem. The drunkards roared even more. They talked like it was nothing. Gendry didn't seem uncomfortable with her, or furiously blushing like he did with Bella. 

Everything seemed to disappear all around her. What was I thinking? He has a family now. 

_You wouldn't be my family. You'd be mi'lady._

He can never be my family now. Not ever. It's probably best that he doesn't even see me. 

So, she then left. On her way to the North, but part of her remained south. The south takes too much anyway. 


	106. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Addam decide to go bar-hopping to pick up women.

"Ahh. Hahaha!"

"No, I-I'm serious. I'm serious. He had it up his butt. And I'm thinking; why did he do that?!"

"So, what happened then?"

"We had to wait for the ambulance. There wasn't much he could do. But! But every time he bent down, it looked like his ass came across a _**bright** _ idea!" 

Both of them laughed so damn much that they caught some unwanted attention. 

"OY! You're not high now, are you boys?"

"Nope! No, Garrison, me and my boy Jaime here, we're just drrruuuuunnnk!" Addam burped out gleefully. 

"I'm gonna have to cut you two guys off!"

"Nonononono! We'll be good, Gary! I prwomize!" Jaime slurred. 

Addam suddenly tapped him on the shoulder. "Yo, Jamesun! Isn't that Melesa Crakehall?" he said nearly pointing at the girl. 

"Don't point numbnuts! Yeah, I think it is. But I can't tell from this angle!" 

Suddenly, she turned. He might've been too loud. She turned back around but he could see it was. Bright shiny brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, fairly pointy chin. And possibly the biggest chest he had seen, not counting Aunt Genna! Ew, why did I think that?! I must be really, really drunkk! Her shoulder's a bit broad, but everyone in Lyle's family had broad shoulders. 

"Waitwaitwait! Over there! Isn't that your sister's friend, Jeyne? Jeyne Farman?"

He barely remembered her. Cersei often called her fat despite being more shapely than her at the age of eleven. Damn, Cersei has some hot friends. Why didn't I hit on them? Better yet, why didn't they hit on me? I should probably get out more. 

"Jamesun! We need to get a little somethin'-somethin' tonight! So, who gets who?"

"Well, Addam, I know you kinda have a thing for Jeyne. You get the pretty one, and I get the hot mess known as Melesa Crakehall!"

He then got up and walked to her. Either Melesa changed a lot since I left for university or maybe I did. She looked to have dyed her hair blond, and her eyes were more blue. And a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. I like freckles. 

"Hey there, beautiful! How you doin'?" 

She looked a bit angered and surprised. "Are you talking to me?" 

"Who else am I talking about?! When did your eyes get so beautifully blue, beautiful?"

* * *

"And that kids, is how I met your mother. Sad to say, but true." 

His son and daughter, Arthur and Serena simply stared at him with their mouths gaping and eyes dropping. 


	107. Ice Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.

_I tried to save you. You know I did._

_Her thick auburn hair swayed beautifully and her eyes resplendently blue._

_So much like Cat's. But now, they looked as hard as ice. Icy as those accursed Starks._

_if the world had not been so cruel, you truly would have been my daughter._

**_"I love my father. My real father Eddard Stark of Winterfell!"_ **

_I had been a fool. Far too entranced by her beauty. The Tullys did breed beautiful women._

_The blade struck hard and swift. In the same spot where Brandon had started; the collarbone._

**_"And you will never hurt me. Ever. Again."_ **

_But I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted you to be mine, as you should have been._

_Yet the Starks took you away from me, as they always have._

_Her eyes are so icy; as pale as a frozen chill._

_She truly is Eddard Stark's daughter._

_Winter has come for me._


	108. Of The North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wives and lives Ned Stark could have had and the one he would always have.

_Lyessa Flint_

Lady Lyessa had a round face and a pug’s nose but, as Lord Arthor Flint’s only child, her dowry had been the future Lordship of Widow’s Watch. She was always smiling. Why would she not? She was well-loved. Everyone spoke of her wits and good humor.

And he saw and felt it with his own eyes, along with the warmth of her heart. He often found himself lost in her smile. And he loved having her small frame pressed up by his body. Holding her and never letting go. 

Though he missed Winterfell and could visit it as much as he'd like, he's come to enjoy Widow's Watch. The sound of the roaring waves crashing unto the shores. At times, he finds himself at ease ice-fishing on the northern rivers of the Broken Branch. He had come to teach his young son Robin, though he was often impatient. At times, he rode to White Harbor to discuss matters of trade, and his son and Lord Wylis's daughter would play. Mayhaps they could be betrothed when they're older. 

Lyessa was now swelling with their next child. He would love it no matter what, boy or girl. And he knows he would love the child even more if it has it's mother's smile. 

 

_Barbrey Ryswell_

He almost hates Brandon for doing this to him. 

Almost everyone in the North had known of the trysts that occurred between them. Now that Brandon was married to Lady Catelyn, they could not continue. Within an instant, he was married to Lady Barbrey Ryswell. She is quite beautifully and wily with her wildly tangled brown hair. 

But he knows better than to hope that Barbrey would feel something for him. He was nowhere near as tall as Brandon or as handsome as him. Not many men would clamour around a second-born son, they'd want to flock around the heir. That's the way it's always been. 

Should they want to bed one another, he could only hope that they will be discreet. But he dare not treat her discourteously. Even if she was content to be Brandon's mistress, he would never harm her or hate her for wanting Brandon. Who wouldn't want Brandon?

Yet something happens between them. Within the three weeks they have been married, they don't feel like strangers. Whether it was seeing her slap Brandon or truly being allowed to touch her, there is a closeness there now. 

_I may not have wanted her, and she may not have wanted me, but hopefully we could want to want each other and love each other, truly._

 

_Lysa Tully_

A second-born daughter for a second-born son. It was almost fitting.

He had to admit that he believed that he would have been married to Lady Catelyn Tully; her elder sister. She had been all but trained to be Lady of Winterfell, but she had been wed to Jon Arryn's heir and his good friend Elbert Arryn. 

She looked so demure, and almost scared as if she thought that he would harm her. He had little experience with women, and had been as gentle as could be. He was surprised on how she moaned and all but demanded him to go about it faster and harder. They had lain about four times until they had been laden with sleep. 

He had found it quite surprising that she had been able to overlook his "mistake" and had even come to love Jon as her own. That was more than he could ever want or ask of her. It was almost baffling. Especially when he suddenly questioned as to why she would do that. 

_Jon's a good little boy who needs a mother. Even though he's not mine, he's all you. And ... I love you._

Lysa was far too much that he could ask for. She had given him more than he did her. 

 

_Ashara Dayne_

It was nothing he had expected. Being so far away from the North. But he could not wholeheartedly ask her to come North with him. Even though his father had been making arrangements for him to take Moat Cailin as his seat. 

High Hermitage was a beautiful castle. The castle walls made of pale red stone and there were lemon trees in its gardens; giving off a pleasant sweet scent. 

Nor did he expect that their children would be Daynes. The new Daynes of High Hermitage but Daynes nonetheless. Allyria was often whooping as she went riding. She was the perfect mix of Stark and Dayne. Her hair a lusciously beautiful brown hair and almond-shaped violet coloured eyes. Alaric quite surprised him as he seemed to take after his brother Brandon. 

It almost made him think that Ashara had made a mistake. That it would make her want his brother. _Why would she want you? She's the loveliest woman in the world, and take a look at yourself! You're nothing!_ said a voice that sounded so hauntingly like Brandon's, but so distorted. 

Somehow, she managed to know just what he was thinking. "He may look like your brother, but he's all you," she said as she pointed out to him. Alaric had Ashara's dark hair and blue-grey eyes so dark they almost looked black. He looked like Brandon and even fought like him as he was overpowering the master-at-arms. But there was something of him in there. The look of intensity in his eyes. 

He was always lucky to have her. Lucky that she chose to be married to him. Lucky that she made the decision to bear his children because she wanted to. And to love him because she did, and there was no explanation for that. And he didn't need one. 

  
_Catelyn Tully_ **_Stark_ **

Even in the days of the most bliss, he still thinks it. _I don't deserve her._ This beautiful woman who had been promised to his tall and handsome brother; and should have been promised more than just being the Lady of Winterfell. 

They had wed to one another without ever having known one another. Yet, they went from strangers who gawked at one another to two parents devoted to the children that they made and to one another. At times, he still doesn't understand just how that happened. 

Though his heart will hold a place for Ashara, she's nothing but a candle in the wind in his life now. Catelyn was everything expected of a lady: courteous, kind, yet she could be as fiery as her hair. Many northern mountain clansmen and wildlings called it "kissed by fire". 

Even as he was being dragged to the Sept of Baelor, he found himself thinking of her. Of her bright blue eyes. Her pale soft skin. Her fiery auburn hair. How she would snuggle by his side and place her head on his chest. They fit so perfectly. 

As images of his children flowed in his head, the last one was of her. How beautiful and demure she seemed to be on their wedding day. _Would she choose me if she was given the choice? Would she have been ecstatic to marry me if I were the heir of Winterfell instead of Brandon?_

_No. I should not be thinking such things. I've lived a great life with her._

And then the blade struck.


	109. Control (Stannis/Mariya)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that moment where you can't stop arguing with that girl who annoys the crap out of you ... and you suddenly want to kiss her?

Stannis sighed, feeling exasperated. He watched as she left his doorway.  _I hate that girl, so soo much!_

"Bet you can't wait to get into her knickers, can't you, Stanny?" Robert said snidely. 

"Shut up, Robert!" Stannis said. How and why on Earth would that ever happen?! Mariya Darry was the worst thing that ever happened in the world! Her stupidly snide comments. Her habit of saying just how "intelligent" I am. That stupid way she flicks her pretty chestnut brown hair. 

"It's pretty damn obvious. You could cut that tension with a knife! And I don't blame you, she's pretty hot! Have you seen the ASS on that girl!" Robert exclaimed. 

Robert immediately regretted his decision as Stannis' fist met Robert's face. 

"OWW! You know it's true!" Robert groaned out, clutching his face. 

* * *

"Alright then. Remember Stannis, pi is a mathematical constant, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. That itself would be pi multiplied by the radius squared, but the area of as cylinder would be that but added on pi multiplied by the radius and the cylinder's height. Also remember that they're also multiplied by two as well. I'm certain even you could comprehend that." 

"I can comprehend Pythagorean Theorem, that and more! If you were going to say that to anyone, tell that to my brother!"

"That would be too easy. And it would fly over his head faster than you can say Pythagorean Theorem!" 

By the GODS, she's sooo annoying! ... And kinda pretty. 

"Alright then, want to move on to chemistry? Though, i gotta say, it's pretty easy." 

"You do remember O2, right? It's the thing that _humans_ breathe in."

"Why are you being so damn difficult?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" 

"You are soo ... difficult!"

"That's rich coming from you!"

"Well, maybe I kinda, sorta like you?!"

"Well, maybe I kinda sorta like you too?!"

"Are you saying you like me? Or not?! Because I'm practically telling you I like you!"

"Well then, I'm saying I like you!" 

"Oh, really?!" Mariya said looking incredulous and a bit more composed. 

"Well, maybe I liked you for a really long time but I didn't realize it because I hated you so damn much!" Stannis all but growled out. I _t seems weird, but now that I think about it, it does make sense! We've been rivals ever since she and I joined the debate team back in junior high school. So presumptuous even then, and ... cute._

"Fine! I guess we're ... boyfriend and girlfriend then!"

"I guess we are! On ONE condition! I get to be the boyfriend!" What th - why on Earth did I say that?!

"I wouldn't have it any other way. You'd be terrible as a girl!" she giggled. _Waitaminute, Mariya Darry ... giggling?_

But as soon as her lips began to touch his, Stannis Baratheon quickly forgot what he was thinking about. And they forgot everything else. 


	110. The Conquerors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were Aegon and Orys come again

He had barely understood it all. 

Since he had turned eight years old, things had changed. He was no longer some faceless boy playing with Lemore. No, they both had new names, new true names the moment Jon Connington strode into their lives. 

He was not simply Aegon, but Aegon VI of His Name, Son of Rhaegar Targaryen. And Lemore was the fabled beauty Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall. 

Everything after that came duties that came with being Aegon VI; the lost heir and restorer to the Targaryen dynasty. Jon would teach him about the histories of Westeros, Ashara would teach him about the Gods even though she often made fun of them, and Haldon would teach him languages, sums and other things that ever lord or prince should know. 

Things had changed when Ashara had suggested that he needed a proper master-at-arms, one who wouldn't completely hold back on him. 

Rolly had immediately impressed him with his brawny build and his shock of orange hair, but it was the boy with him who had intrigued him. The Usurpers' son; Gendry. Bastard's son, Jon often corrected. He was about a year-and-a-half younger than him but already developing a man's build for an eight-year-old. Fairly stocky, his dark hair was darker than the night sky and his eyes bluer and richer than the sea. 

Jon didn't like him, and made his dislike apparent when he was briefly charged in training him. All Jon saw was his failure, and immediately suggested that he be executed. Haldon said that Gendry could have a use for them. He just saw a friend. A misfit child who had been cast aside after his mother had died. Jon had stated that he smelled like a common-born whore, and realized he shouldn't have said; as it became apparent that Gendry had inherited the infamous Baratheon strength and had swollen Jon's face from a wallop of his fists.

Gendry and him trained with one another every day and received the same lessons. They learned more about each other each passing day. It turned out that Gendry was not born from a common woman. His mother was noble born and had brought him to the Golden Company; prompted by the Spider. She wasn't a rich Crownlands noble but from a proud one. Gendry could barely remember the sigil of his mother's house until they had their lessons: a Massey of Stone's Dance.  

They had both grown much since they met. Gendry was now tall and strong with his thick mop of coal dark hair nearly covering his eyes and easily rippled muscles that made him look like a maiden's fantasy. Aegon had grown tall as well; lithe and lanky. It was almost strange that they are their father's shadows yet friends instead of bitter enemies. 

As Gendry was knighted, he had now been granted a new name. He would not be Gendry Waters or Massey; but Gendry Baratheon: Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Warden of the Narrow Sea. Though Gendry claimed that his personal sigil should be the new sigil of House Baratheon which made Jon groan in disappointment.   
 _"Bull's are strong and powerful, but stag's are dainty and graceful. I'm not a stag."_

Soon they had met up with the last of his family; the family that he had thought gone. Daenerys looked the very picture of a Valyrian beauty. Viserys had been long dead and gone but Dany - as she preferred to be called - said it was best that way. Though, her son Rhaego is the picture perfect mix of Dothraki and Valyrian beauty with his copper skin and violet-coloured almond-shaped eyes. 

As they reached Westeros, everyone had come to known them. Daenerys the perfect mix of Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen. But him and Gendry? They were like Aegon the Dragon and Orys One-Hand brought from the dead. The Conquerors reborn. But they had come to take their kingdoms back.


	111. Collapse (Quentyn/Gwyneth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he failed, she did not see it.

Quentyn Martell was not a failure. Not for the most part. 

While he often looked unsure and uncertain, and plain for the most part, she never saw that. Gwyneth Yronwood always saw the amazing warrior and knight he could be. And now, he looks like the fiercest thing that she never could have imagined. 

Part of his face was now covered in a jagged burn pattern, making it seem as if his face was divided or cracked. His eyes looked darker than ever; as black as pitch instead of brown. And he now wore a cloak made up of numerous different  beautifully coloured ragged raiments. He was now the Tattered Prince of Dorne. 

In spite of all that, in spite of his accomplishments, he was still the shy and nervous boy who had first came to Yronwood; according to her father anyways. And he was right, when he came to see her, he no longer seemed fearsome. He talked to her all nervous and shy, telling her that he was a failure in his effort to bring the now Queen Daenerys into the fold. 

Frankly, she did not care. She wouldn't know what to say or do if Quentyn became Daenerys' consort. Would her father want to wed her to his brother Trystane? They are closer to an age, but Trystane is still in love with his betrothed; the former Princess Myrcella Baratheon now Waters.   
 _"Names do not matter. What matters is that she is a thief who nearly escaped with my important treasure. My heart."_

What Trystane felt for his lady love is what she felt and still feels for Quentyn. This time, it is not light teasing. I have flowered. A part of her suspects that Quentyn will turn down the proposal. In fact, he surprises her when he tells her that he must ask her father's approval. 

_Gwyneth Nymeros Martell. I love the sound of it._


	112. Nevermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five people whose life began anew once they took the black, serving under Lord Snow during the Winter War, and one who never accepted his fate.

_The Aurochs_

He never thought that he'd survive all of this. Thorne must have been right. I've had cheese for wits and I'm as thick as a castle wall. 

Though, I'm not as slow as a dead snail anymore. Strong and muscled as aurochs but not the speed of one. 

With all the things I'd seen, I'd thought I'd be dead. Course, if I were dead, I'd be fighting on the other side of things. 

But I'd be deader than dead if it hadn't been for Jon. I was definitely strong but nowhere near as skilled as I am now. But then again, Jon could still leave me on my arse. 

Now that the Wall had been gone and most of the Night's Watch dead, those who remained pledged themselves to Jon. We were and still are brothers. But now we have a new name; the Raven's Teeth. Dunno where Jon came up with that name. But I probably shouldn't question the King. 

 

_The Mummer's Monkey_

I would have thought that my arse and wits would have been frozen by now. It's good to warm again. 

While it would be great to visit the other kingdoms, it was nice to stay in one place. Especially since that one place is the Red Keep. 

I'm still not sure just how was it that I'm still alive. It certainly was my giant mouth; that's what got me sent to the Wall in the first place. Some lords just don't appreciate a good laugh. 

But then again, I've been japing for as long as I could talk. Where most boys were excited to be knights and trained from the moment they could hold a stick, I japed. It's all I've ever done. I've never thrown a spear before, I've never held a sword with a proper edge, I was certain that I'd be one of the first to die. 

That was til Jon showed me how. I've gotten good with a sword and spear, I'm passable with a crossbow and I know how to sit a horse proper. Now, I'm one of the most deadliest knights ever! Though, Jon could still knock me down on my arse. 

As much as I'm glad that I'm a good fighter and anointed knight, it's good to play the fool again. It's what I do best.

 

_The Sweet Lion_

Why would anyone want to trust him? But I didn't exactly make things easier; with all my japes and boasting of my Lannister heritage. Even though my name was Hill and not Lannister.

Folly it was. I like to jape as much as any man, but I don't want to named liar all my life. 

I may be a Hill, but even a bastard can bring glory to a great name. I don't want to be looked at like a snake, but like a true lion. 

Mayhaps, Jon Snow saw that too. _"One of the best men I've known was a Lannister. Lord Tyrion; he's a good man. And I think you are too"_

He's right. I've been the Black Lion for quire some time. Although, it seems I benefited more in being a Hill instead of a Lannister. Makes me more likable and trustworthy somehow. 

Like how they like and trust their new king. The king that I pledged my service to. And the one person I'll truly serve. 

 

_Boys of Fair_

They had not thought to have seen what those have thought as "children's tales" in their lives. They had been wrong. 

We had just been a cobblers like our mum and her father and his father from his and so on. They never really knew their father, and didn't bother to know or care. We just wanted to make something of ourselves and send the money to our family. But we got too careless and greedy. 

No better than the lot that was thrown in with the Night's Watch. Though, we might be better than the rapers even though we acted little more than thieves. Though, we are bastards. 

Although, none of that seemed to matter. Who and what we were was erased. Lord Commander Jon Snow said as much. Even said that we hold promise as warriors. 

We always trained with Horse and Ser Iron Emmett; who always complimented on our growing skills. It made it seem all the more unfair. We could have tried to be knights and live like them. 

But now we can. We can live and be like true knights, just like the stories. 

 

_The Oldtown Whore_

They said that King's Landing always smelled like an unwashed whore. Kinda like me, in a way. But it started to have a fresh and warm smell to it now; as many parts of King's Landing and the Red Keep were being fixed. 

No one would come near me once word had gone out that I had been a boy whore from Oldtown; a painted catamite. Not Jon though. He honestly didn't care if that was true or not, and didn't bother to ask. "Like it or not, we're all brothers now"

And that was true. After a while, all these men had felt like brothers, even if they made an occasional snarky comment. Some could say that I was once a boy whore who now grew into a man ... whore. It barely bothered him. 

Nothing like that bothered me. What does bother me is when anyone dare refer to Jon as the Bastard King and his court as the Court of Cripples, Bastards and the Broken. No one will insult my king. 

 

_The Thorn_

No one would miss him. Why would anyone miss him? 

He gave everyone an amusing name but did nothing else truly. He didn't make men out of any of them. The Wall had done that. 

Thinking about the sinewy old man left a bitter taste in his mouth somehow. 

Aurochs, Ser Loon, Mummer's Monkey, Stone Head, Sam the Slayer, Lord Snow. 

I thank you for the many names and the false titles, good Ser. 


	113. Of Oaths and Promises (Ned/Cat, Robert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A king, a queen and a knight. Yet none of them are true

Eddard Stark was not one to break a promise or a vow so easily. 

He took to them as he did any duty he was given. 

I've been so weak, he thinks as he looks at her; the Queen. 

Once upon a time, long ago, she would have been my wife. Had it not been for Hoster Tully's sudden ambition to make his daughter a Queen. Would she have wanted me? Been happy in the North? His eldest daughter a Queen and his youngest the wife of the Hand. 

Those thoughts and words leave his mind when she asks him to guard her chambers. But he is supposed to guard the chambers _outside_ of them. She once japed that he would be doing his due diligence by guarding her within them. They always seem more at ease when they are together. 

When they are together, they are not Queen Catelyn Baratheon or Ser Eddard Stark of the Kingsguard. They are just Ned and Cat. The first time they were ever Ned and Cat was during the first time Robert had decided to visit Winterfell, not long after his wedding to her. Robert wanted to pay his respects and Ned had wanted to see just how his brother had been faring with his new wife and Jon. 

They had talked on how she would have been a northern wife and he her northern husband had Hoster Tully not changed his mind. Although, she had done most of the talking and he had listened. 

It felt like a betrayal when she had kissed him. She tried to pass it off as a mummery but she kissed him again. She then grabbed him by the neck and he mirrored the movement. Her beautiful fiery hair was in disarray. One hand still gently caressing her head while the other had its aim around her bum. The feel and taste of her nipple in his mouth. Her staccato gasps as he pumped into her. 

And he had been the one to have given her beautiful children. Not Robert. He almost wanted to punch his friend when he decided to parade Catelyn and her children around when he decided to hold court. As if his chiildren - my children - are porcelain doll to eagerly display and all but marking his territory at Catelyn. Reminding her and the nobles that she is his wife. 

I want to take her away from all this. Most girls would thrive in such things; like Cersei Lannister who was now wed to Benjen. Or his first love Ashara Dayne. She may have the patience for it but he knew that she hated it. 

Take her away from this snake pit. Take the children too and flee to Essos. Or make their way beyond the Wall and live amongst the wildlings. But I can't and won't. 

For there is only duty now. And Eddard Stark always did his duty.


	114. Fangs and Claws (Brandon/Cersei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Kingsguard are weak for a beautiful maiden

I should not be doing this. 

Yet, he can't help himself. This is the way men simply are; the way I am. I was made for fighting, drinking and fucking. 

But I was also put on this world to protect Lya, Ned and Ben. That's why I forsook Winterfell. I was never up for all that lordly shite. 

It often amused him whenever Jaime Lannister would come to visit court with his fox of a wife. He had sparred with him on occasion and at times, he narrowly beat him. Brandon was fast but Jaime is quick. Yet, Brandon is older and stronger which gave him an advantage. He would have been a worthy choice for the White Cloak of the Kingsguard. Yet, he remembers how he challenged Jaime Lannister back in Harrenhal for the position and he had landed on his romp for underestimating him. 

At times, he had leered at Lady Delena. Her eyes were pale blue, her fairly-large ears were quite endearing and she had ample curves adorning her body. What would I give to fuck her! But he stopped thinking that once Jaime Lannister and Lya had caught him doing it. He recieved a reprimand from the young Lannister and a smack on the head from Lya.; 

It often perturbed him as to why so many attractive ladies were not wed to men who were, arguably not handsome. Lord Stannis Baratheon of the Rainwood was now married to the very buxom Janna Tyrell. Ned was married to his former betrothed Lady Catelyn Tully and had been courted by Ashara Dayne a bit back at Harrenhal. _Though, i did encourage her a bit. She was looking and thinking of me, I know it._

He couldn't say that about Lord Baratheon and his wife. Robert was quite handsome with his broad features and muscles. And Cersei Lannister. What was there to say? A true lioness. Especially in bed. Fair skinned and golden-haired, emerald cat-green eyes. a slender and graceful figure while armed with one of the biggest chests I've ever seen. 

They had come to court quite often. Though, Cersei would narrowly meet up with her brother. While he likes Robert's company some, he sometimes sees him eyeing Lya still, as if he was still betrothed to her. She belongs to Rhaegar now, and I've made my peace with that. 

Yet, he can't help but often find Cersei Lannister in his chambers. They had shared many dances and a jape or two. She's almost wasted on Robert. Have they ever truly fucked? Because she is an absolute master! Or mayhaps Robert had shown her a thing or two? Best not to think of it or him now. 

Cersei was on her knees, delightfully sucking on his cock. Her lips and tongue almost gracefully wrapped around it like a snake. The way she eyes me as she does it. Enticing.

Robert had drunk himself into a stupor as usual and Barristan Selmy had escorted him back to his chambers but Brandon had offered and Cersei had assisted him. Mayhaps, that is why the situation at hand is quite exciting; as Robert was inches away from the bedpost. 

The best part of it is when he puts her on top of him. She is more eager and wanton; and even smiling pleasantly. She knows that she is in control and loves it. Most of their fucks are quite quick and hard. But this might be the most memorable. Her now erect nipples were as bright and cherry red as her lips. Her blonde curls bouncing along with her perfect teats. Her nails and teeth practically sinking into his skin as he went harder and deeper into her. 

She's such a good fuck. But she may be worth more than that ...


	115. Lamentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black of hair, black of eye, black of heart Theon was. But here he was before the eyes of the Gods and the eyes of a few men, he was not.

He could barely believe his eyes. It was hard to think of the kneeling man before him as Theon Greyjoy. 

Last he had seen him, Theon Greyjoy had been a lean and dark handsome youth who managed to find amusement in anything. A smile plastered to his face, as if he were privy to the world's greatest jape and understood and refused to fell anyone. Theon Greyjoy, who immediately and readily called him a bastard with little provocation.  Theon Greyjoy, who often bragged with his numerous escapades and exploits with every woman and whore who was willing to have him.

Now, he was a shell of the arrogant youth he had known throughout their time at Winterfell. Theon's lustrous black hair had now become white and brittle, but a fringe of black hair had begun to form on the crown of his head. The smile he had was crooked and filled with broken teeth. He was missing some of his fingers and toes, as he leaned heavily on a cane made of blackthorn and grey woolen cloak bordered in sable covering him. 

Jeyne Poole, who had been pretending to be his sister was crying and pleading for Theon to be spared. Rickon, who he was grateful that he was alive, had been bellowing for Theon to die. His wildling caretaker Osha, had been trying to soothe him. Though, he could tale from her hard stare that she was thinking the same as Rickon. 

He has half a mind to. He had thought and heard that Stannis Baratheon had him executed, but that had turned out to be an impostor. But then again, Theon had been instrumental in Stannis' plans to take back Winterfell. Theon's knowledge of the castle had been useful to take it back from Lord Ramsay Bolton. 

But it was also that knowledge he used to try to take Winterfell for himself and his insipid family. He used that knowledge to take it from the Starks, who had been kind to him and all but treated him like a son. 

His blood was beginning to boil just from the sight of him. The wolf's blood, Father had once said. I want to do more than just take his head. I want to punch it in. Break every part of him. His hand gripped on Longclaw's pommel and he then raised it out of his scabbard. 

Theon looked at him with such dead eyes. As if he knew. He had thought that Theon would be protesting and crying like a babe. But he wasn't. He muttered something instead. 

"Theon. My name is Theon. Theon. You have to remember your name."

Black of hair, black of eye, black of heart Theon was. But here he was before the eyes of the Gods and the eyes of a few men, he was not. 

We're not the same people we were. We were both stupid boys. Now look at us; men. Men grown ... and as broken as the icy lake that had taken much of the Bolton cavalry. 

Rather than take his head, he had sheathed his blade and he had extended his hand out to him. Theon almost looked at him in surprise, as if he thought he was going to hit him. It made him feel even more sorry for the shell he was and enveloped himself in. 

"C'mon Theon. Let's go home."


	116. Relate (Dacey/Edmure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wrong, so, so wrong.

She should not be doing this. It was wrong. 

But its not like she was having such relations with the king. It was only his uncle; Lord Edmure. Yet, that's what had made it so wrong. 

Lord Edmure Tully and her king Robb Stark held similar enough features. Both had blue eyes; yet Robb's head is armed with red-brown curls and Lord Edmure had thick auburn hair and a beard. Edmure bears a stocky build and stood fairly tall. He wears bright mail for battle and owns flowing blue-and-red and mud-and-water cloaks. The crest of his greathelm is adorned with a silver trout. Robb simply wore boiled leather armor alongside a grey fur-lined jerkin. Yet, plainly or ornately dressed, he was quite breath-taking and close of a height to her as well. 

Robb was a boy who had become a man, whereas Edmure was a boy prancing himself around as if he was a man. 

Yet, he is still appealing. But when she takes a good look at him, she finds herself thinking of the man that Robb can still be. It is often at the worst of times, like when she was shamelessly grinding on his hips or when he playfully held her nipple betwixt his teeth. 

 _He's a boy; he's my king. I shouldn't be having such thoughts!_ Yet, they were still there, even when she was not around him. Robb didn't even reprimand her, but he did not encourage her either. When SmallJon found out, he laughed himself silly that he squirted out ale from his nose. Patrek Mallister japed about Edmure's "floppy fish", what ever that had meant.

She had made it painfully clear to Edmure that she had no interest in being his wife or bearing his children. He took it in stride. Yet, these feelings of guilt linger. 

I don't love him. I don't. I shouldn't be feeling guilty. So, then why?


	117. Noble, Noble Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's too noble to steal them, so they steal him instead.

He had no idea just how this had happened. He had only met the wildling princess less than a fortnight ago. 

It brought him shame to say this, but she was more conventionally comelier than Ygritte. She was surely like a princess out of the stories Sansa loved. Beautiful, graceful, yet fierce. Almost as fierce and feisty as Ygritte. 

 _I made a vow to the Night's Watch_. Yet, he could not predicted what had happened. The both of them slipping underneath his furs so late at night. 

"You know nothing, Jon Snow" he heard the both of them said. The two of them together in his furs were like enchanting sirens. 

He could barely comprehend what had happened next. Val's full bosom pressed to his face. Ygritte's small hands wrapping around his cock. Val deftly placing herself on his cock and riding him as well as a mounted horse. His mouth teasing and taunting all throughout both of their bodies. His hand roaming around their bodies and fondly caressing their bums. Their heady groans as he placed his mouth and tongue on their breasts. 

All of it was strange yet enchantingly exciting. I never had a woman before, yet there were two lovely woman snuggled by his chest. Is this what it means to truly be free? 

The both of them sleepily and greedily snuggled closer to him all of sudden. Their breasts pressing up against him. The sensation of it caused his cock to stir. \

Almost as if she had known, Ygritte's deft hand suddenly moved to his cock. The same thing occurred with Val; sleepily nestling his hand on his chest. 

"G'morning, my sweet crow," Ygritte said as her hand wrapped around and began to pump his cock. He then felt Val's leg inching closer to his own. Her rosy lips leaving a trail of kisses on his neck. 

"You sure you are - were - maiden, Lord o' Snow?" Val said with a teasing smile. 

Hell, he found it hard to believe that he knew what he what knew and did. 

"I was," Jon said, as Ygritte kept pumping him. He found it hard to concentrate on either one. 

"We had a good night. Now, how bout we have a good morn too?"


	118. The Joinery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited, and it feels so ... strange

"Ohh, c'mon, Gendry!"

"Arry, I'm just not sure!"

She had been nagging him for quite some time. His girlfriend, Arya Stark, must really want her parents to like him. But frankly, he's not so sure. Then again, he's never made it this far into a relationship. 

Not to brag, but there were some ladies who caught his interest enough. But Arya was definitely different. She always caught his interest whether it was doing something terribly exciting that made him almost shit his pants, to even the most incredibly mundane things like just watching old and new movies on Netflix or Hulu. 

"C'mon! I know Robb and Jon will love you! Bran and Rickon will adore you! And my Mum and Dad will love you because they love me. Please, Gendry?" she said, playfully pouting her lips. Damn, not the face!

"Alright, Alright! J-just d-don't make the face! Y'know I'm a sucker for the face!"

"I know you are!" she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

* * *

This was great. This was going good. Now, this was the time for once. 

"Edric. I don't want to scare you off or anything but ... "

"Sansa, y'know, you're already scaring me by saying that!"

"OK, true. My family's having this barbecue and while I invited some friends, Jeyne and Beth among others, I also want you to come!"

"Me? Meeting parents? Are you sure about that?" Edric said with a bit of uneasiness. 

"Of course! Unless you plan on breaking up with me?" Sansa said with a teasing tone but mixed in with a certain degree of curiousness and seriousness. 

"I'd have to be insane to even consider it! It's just that ... well, you told me about that last boyfriend of yours ... and ..."

Of course. Even now, after she kicked his ass to the curb, Joffrey's ghost still haunted her and any relationship where she was happy. _Not this time._

"You are not him. In the slightest. And every one will love you. I know it!" 

* * *

"You sure about this, Jon? I'm not too big on these kind of events. Not to mention, we've been dating for six months!" Mya coughed out as she practically drowned herself with her water bottle. 

That was one of the things he loved about her. Mya is so lovely, in her wild and adventurous ways. She loved doing anything remotely sporty and staying in shape.

And I certainly love the view from behind. 

"It's just a barbecue. And I really want you to meet my family. My cousins will adore you! You already met my Mum, and get along with her great."

"Alright, alright! Just no puppy-dog eyes. You know I can't resist those beautiful eyes of yours!"

* * *

It was strange to see them all here. All these pieces of his friend Robert Baratheon come together. 

His children had been completely surprised as they had introduced their boyfriends and girlfriend. Each and every one of them were dumbfounded. Mya, Gendry and Edric were now deep in conversation while Jon, Arya and Sansa practically gawked at them like vultures. 

He remembered Mya all too well. Robert had been quite excited and scared when he became a father. But that word became as loose as the droplets of beer that hung around his lips. In short time, Mya and her mother had become a boring nuisance to him. Robert was always a man of excitement and passions. 

Gendry he faintly recalled. He remembered a shy boy who had come to befriend Robb and Jon until Cersei Lannister had him sent to boarding school in Qohor for unexplained reasons. It was strange to seem him again. The spitting image of how he had remembered Robert in their days of youth. Tall, strong but having the seriousness that his father had lacked. How is it that such a good lad could have been born from what his friend is now, and his accursed wife Cersei?

It was hard not to recognize Edric. Everyone remembered just how he had been conceived. Loudly, and in the coat room. He had met the Florents once or twice, and Edric and his aunt Delena may be the only kind and relatively good-lucking Florents he had met. Edric was surprisingly enough the best of what he remembered of Robert and his uncle Renly. Charming and courteous yet as fierce and proud as him. He and Gendry had that much in common with each other, and seeing them together was almost like having two clones of his former friend. 

Except that Gendry was more blunt than his brother. Other than their looks, the three had some things in common with one another. They loved any and every form of physical activity. And are just as proud and fierce as the man who had sired them. 

Robert often joked that the Baratheons and the Starks are meant to be side by side. Perhaps he was right and would get his wish. 

* * *

"So ... this was weird." Gendry said, as he anxiously stretched his arms. 

"Yeah, it was. But it was rather nice, in a way," Mya said with a faint smile on her lips. 

"In spite of the circumstances, I'm glad we met. I did always want a brother or sister!" Edric said excitedly. 

"Well, now you do!" Mya said, messing up Edric's rather neat hair. 

"So, Gendry, Arya mentioned that you work in a garage or something?" Edric asked. 

"Yup! I'm a regular old greasy monkey mechanic!" Gendry said, beaming with pride. 

"Ever take one of those cars for a spin?"

"I'm not stealing a car for you or with you!"

"Nor should we encourage you!"

"C'mon! I already got my driver's licence!" 

"NO!!"


	119. His Honour, Not Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will serve Robb Stark, not because he is a king or brother by law but because he will follow him anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, is Ser Raynald Westerling amongst these captives?”
> 
> “The knight of seashells?” Edwyn sneered. You’ll find that one feeding the fish at the bottom of the Green Fork.”
> 
> “He was in the yard when our men came to put the direwolf down,” said Walder Rivers. “Whalen demanded his sword and he have it over meek enough, but when the crossbowmen began feathering the wolf he seized Whalen’s axe and cut the monster loose of the net they’d thrown over him. Whalen says he took a quarrel in his shoulder and another in the gut, but still managed to reach the wallwalk and throw himself into the river.”
> 
> “He left a trail of blood on the steps,” said Edwyn.
> 
> “Did you find his corpse afterward?” asked Jaime.
> 
> “We found a thousand corpses afterward. Once they spend a few days in the river, they all look much the same”

He woke in a haze of pain and poppy. His chest felt like it was on fire. The weight of the blanket on it was unbearable, quite aside from the collection of other aches and pains he felt. He couldn’t quite get his eyes to focus on anything, but somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman’s voice.

“Ser? You need to rest, Ser.”

 _The Crag,_  he thought.  _Jeyne. I’m at the Crag._ He tried to sit up. Jeyne was his queen, she didn’t want him calling her  _your grace,_ not when they were alone.  _  
_

“Rest easily,” she said. “You’re injured, and will need all your strength in the days to come. You are safe here.”

It wasn’t Jeyne’s voice, he realised. Nor was it his mother’s, nor even Dacey Mormont’s. He didn’t know this woman at all.  _Where am I?_  he tried to ask, but all that came out was a groan.

“You are in Greywater Watch, good ser,” another voice said and continued, as if it knew what he would want to ask. A man's voice. Perhaps it did. It didn’t seem so unreasonable a question. “We have summoned a maester to see to your wounds. Rest. Recover your strength. You will need it later.”

That was right. Something had gone wrong. Something terrible had happened. More than one terrible thing. He just…couldn’t quite recall…

He did not dream.

Raynald woke a second time to more pain, but a clearer head and a feeling of loss as well. His chest was consumed with nothing but pain. He tried to move his it. It moved, but not easily, and not without sending a fresh bolt of agony all the way up his spine. 

He did not know where he was. Last thing he remembered was the Twins. The Freys; their betrayal. Robb's direwolf Greywind, suddenly loose and snapping his jaws at every nearby man. The crossbow bolts. The screams. 

 _What had happened? Where was everyone? The She-Bear; Dacey Mormont? SmallJon Umber; the great giant of a man? Wendel Manderly; whom he teasingly called Ser Walrus? Bold Ser Patrek Mallister? The sly fox-faced Owen Norrey? Robb? Where was Robb? What happened to Robb? **What happened to the king?!**_  He tried to lift himself up again but to no avail.

Whatever noise he’d made in the effort, it attracted whoever was watching over him. “Are you awake again, good ser?” It sounded like the woman from before, but the memory of his first waking was dim.

“Yes,” he said. His mouth was dry. It was impossible to act the king flat on his back and scarcely able to move. He felt as limp as the salad the Freys had served him at Edmure’s wedding. “Yes, I’m awake.” 

“Don’t try to move your leg, good ser,” the unknown woman warned him. “The maester says you must stay still for a while yet. The injury you took is not even close to healed.”

Raynald could just make her out in the corner of his eye, small and slight and clad in green. After some bustling about, she pressed a cup into his left hand. Well-watered wine, it seemed to be. With some awkwardness, he raised his head and managed to drink on his own. Some of the dregs trickled down into his chin. His busy mustachios had now formed a bushy beard. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Asleep? But a day. Delirious? Four days before that, and the day before you reached us here. We are glad to see your fever broken.”

“What happened?” 

“Mischance, good ser. You took deep grievous wounds to your chest, as you no doubt can feel. It nearly reached your heart. Hurt one of your ribs. My men stopped the bleeding by some miracle and carried you from the field, but the Neck is not the best place for convalescence, I fear.” The woman hesitated. “The maester says…I'm sorry, I should leave this to the maester, good ser.”

“Then please send the maester to me, my lady,” he said, “if he is not occupied treating other wounded.” And he would have to hope that he had not been lamed by this  _mischance_. 

" ... even treat him? The Westerlings ... traitorous dogs!" he heard someone say. 

" et he's ere now! Why oud he be ere if ot to defend the ing?" he heard someone else say. A woman; a different woman. Her speech was hoarser than the other ones. 

" ... her brother! She id nothing rong!" he heard another man said with an equal hoarse voice. 

His curiosity finally got the best of him and decided to get up to see what was the source of all this commotion. But as he did, the sharp pain in his chest had become searing that he groaned out loudly. 

Suddenly, he heard a  _very_  familiar voice. "RAYNALD!!" At the moment she gently wrapped her arms around him, he recognized her. 

"Jeyne!" he said with a smile, pulling her into a deeper hug, in spite of the pain it brought him. 

"Brother! ... You're hurt!" Jeyne exclaimed. 

"It's alright, I'm alright. It's worth it," he said with a smile. It was then he got a good look at his sister. She looked quite haggard. Her normally straight chestnut-brown hair was now in messy curls and her big brown eyes looked quite weary. And ... her normally slender figure was now more filled ... with a swelling belly. 

"Y-Y-You're ..." 

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm bearing a little wolf. You're going to be an uncle!" Jeyne said with tears in her eyes. 

"And I'd be his great-great granduncle if I get to live another day!" said a rather familiar but hoarse voice. Ser Brynden the Blackfish. His windburnt face and features sported a few more wrinkles and weathered. 

"It's good to see you up and about, Ser Raynald," the hoarse-voiced woman said. She looked rather short and stout but fierce nonetheless with her patched ringmail and mace by her hip. He looked at her surcoat and saw that it was emblazoned with a black bear over a green wood. Oh no. 

"You are Lady Maege Mormont. I had seen your daughter Dacey fight at ... Lord Edmure's wedding. She fought bravely and fought truly. I know it is naught but I offer you my condolences." 

"I thank you for them. Though it makes me wish that it had been I who died in her place. My little she-bear ..." Maege said somberly. 

"Alright. Look's like you're not a traitrous whore-son then. But then again, even traitorous whore-sons can spew out pretty words like that." said a grey-haired stout man with a silver fist on a scarlet surcoat. 

"Watch yourself now, Glover! You're speaking to your Queen and her brother!" the Blackfish growled at him. 

"Our king, your great-nephew, made her a queen the moment he entered her bed!" Glover said. Jeyne then held her head down in shame. 

"Oh! Would you rather have one of Old Walder's numerous daughters in her place now? They're very much the traitorous whoresons you love to talk about!" Blackfish said, raising his fist close to Glover's face. 

Glover's face remained neutral until he shrugged and then darted his eyes at him. It was then he had been told everything. 

The Red Wedding it was called. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms seemed to be applauding the very notion of it. Honour lost on them all. Many northmen who he had come to known died senselessly. Each and every one of their deaths treated as a joke. Roose Bolton revealed himself to be the Lannister's puppet and slew Robb Stark. The Freys had slew Lady Catelyn and mocked the Young Wolf and his mother even after death. What had happened to them was disgusting. The worst of it all? The fact that his mother had helped the Lannisters with it all. And that she had been trying to kill any babe that Jeyne and Robb would have had with her "potions". It brought him sudden shame to be a Westerling. 

"Brother. Brother, it's alright!" Jeyne said, stroking his bearded cheek. He had not noticed the tears streaming down his face. 

He then thought of Robb Stark. His brother by law. He seemed to bare the Tully look, but everything about him was wholly Stark. His figure and face was lean. What ever youthfulness his face had, war had melted all the softness from it and left him hard and lean. His hair a fierce red mane as he rode on his brown courser and with his direwolf Greywind by his side. He seemed more like a wolf with each passing day, with solemness marring his face.

Though, he had known him for short time, he had come to admire him. He took the helm as the head of his house and family as a boy of five-and-ten years. He would wear a face of ice to his soldiers and bannerman, but he could, at times, see the weariness he tried to hide. 

"What's the plan? After Jeyne gives birth to the babe?" he blurted out as he made his way to stand up again, only for the pain to shoot him back down to the floor. 

"From what my people have heard and gathered, young Rickon Stark is very much alive and well. But your nephew has the superior claim. The wolves will come again, good Ser," said a small and solemn-looking man. He seemed to be as small as a child but his eyes gave his age away. Queerly moss-green but they bore a wisdom that not even maesters could have. 

"Are you soft in the head? Do you want to die?" Blackfish said. "Do you need a clout in the ear? There's no need to go about killing yourself for vengeance. We're getting it out from the Boltons, then the Lannisters!"

"It's not just about revenge! It's about honour. I've heard men say that "honour should be bent over and fucked" but I don't believe that. I believed in Robb. He may have been the King Who Lost the North in his death, but in his life, he was always the Young Wolf! The boy who brought Tywin Lannister to heel. I'd fight for his honour and mine own. I'd follow that man to the Seven Hells and back! And as long as I live, Robb Stark is my king!"

Jeyne looked worried, while everyone else now had a look of amusement on their lips. 

"We ought to tell him the plans. It's time we begin!"


	120. Star Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One star will fall and another will burst with life

_It's for the best_ , she thinks. 

She told Ned that the baby died, and her mother agreed to keep her safe. After all, there would have already been a new daughter named Allyria of House Dayne, had her mother not lost her babe. The soluton was bare unto her and so obvious.

Allyria deserves better than to be called Sand or Snow.

Though only a babe, she could see the smile she fell in love with on Allyria's faint lips; the smile that made her love for him grow. He said that he fell in love with my eyes, it was that smile that entranced me. 

Her features seemed to be a perfect mix of Houses Dayne and Stark. She had his dark brown hair and his dazzling smile. And Allyria also had her silvery-pale skin and eyes. But they were not as dark as hers. Rather than hauntingly daunting violet eyes, Allyria's eyes looked like fresh lilacs lively blooming on the first morn of spring. 

It is then she finds herself thinking of her brief betrothal to Ned. She japed that if Aron would die without issue, she would take him away from the North and drape in him in her maiden's cloak of violet stars and swords on him. While it was a somewhat terrible joke, they had found themselves laughing nonetheless. 

As much as she would like to be a mother to her, another babe needs her more. The moment he was born, she had promised Elia that she would look after him and protect him. Aegon will have need of a mother, now that his own was gone. 

"When she's old enough, tell her something of me. ... And ... Ned. Tell her something sweet. Even if it has to be a lie," she says and asks her lady mother and father, Aron standing tall and strong in front of them. 

"We will. And she will be loved. I can promise you that much sister," Aron says, gently squeezing her hand. 

And so, Ashara Dayne "flew", knowing that her "sister"’s dark hair will be waved away as coming from "their" mother, like her own, and that nobody would ever suspect Stark blood under Allyria’s silver-pale Dayne skin.

_When I return, it would be for the better. For this new world for you to be safe and happy in._

_I promise Allyria. I promise._


	121. Wisdom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen likes a girl, but he is far too shy to ask her out. Five people who try to help and screw everything horribly for him and the one person who manages to get him a date.

_Cersei_

"So, there's this girl I like ..."

"Ooh, what's she like then, my sweet boy?"

"Beth is so smart and funny. And it's so hard not to get lost in that bright curly red hair of hers!" Tommen said with the most love struck face ever borne. 

"Ooh, sounds like you're in love, Tom!"

"Gendry, don't tease him!:"

"Tom know's I'm just messing with him, Cella!"

"Anyway, I really want to ask her out, but I can't find the right words. Every time I come close to asking, I end up saying something stupid!" 

"Like what?" Gendry asked

"Last time, she asked me if I had a spare pencil. And I gave her one. And I went like 'Uh, ... ah'. Like I was Frankenstein or something!"

"You want some advice to win this girl's heart, sweet boy?" Cersei cooed at him. 

"Yes! Yes, I do!" Tommen said, exasperated as he threw his arms up in the air. 

"Just be your usual charming self. Woo her with some romantic words. Make sure to be as romantic as possible with her. Or else, you end up like your father." she sighed the last part as she pointed to their father Robert, who was on the couch in his underwear taking a nap. And a crushed beer can on his gut. 

 

_Uncle Jaime_

"Oy, there's my favorite nephew!" 

"Uncle Jaime!!" he said as they both tried to give each other bone-crushing hugs. 

"So, how come you're picking me up from school?"

"Your mum mentioned something about an appointment you needed to go to. I was in the area and offered my services to take you there!"

"Oh, right. Dentist."

"Something on your mind, sport? Copper for your thoughts?"

"Actually, yeah. I'm crushing really hard on this girl, Beth. I asked Mum for advice an - "

"That's a poor choice. No offence to your mum, but she's made some poor choices regarding the men in her life. I mean, before she married Robert, she wo - er, story for another time. Anyways, what'd she tell you?"

"To be as romantic as possible with her. But I can barely spew out two words to her. I tried writing a poem, but then she saw and I ended up saying that it's about Myrcella. She probably thinks that I'm into incest or something!"

"Ooh. That doesn't sound good or pretty. Want some real advice?"

"Yes! Good solid advice that doesn't make me look or sound like some Shakespearean villain or something!"

"Alright kid. Solid advice. Try to find out some of her interests and make them your interests. That'll help get a rapport going on between you two."

That made a lot more sense. Yeah, gain some common ground with her. Brilliant!

"Thanks Uncle Jaime, you're a genius!"

 

_Robert_

"He-hey, Tommy Boy! How ya doin'?" Robert said, one of the few days he wasn't drinking and slurring his words. 

Tommen threw his backpack on the couch and quickly threw himself at it, lying there. 

"You okay, kid?"

"Leave me alone, Dad," Tommen said dejectedly. 

"Oh, c'mon, kid! I know the sight of a love-struck moron. I was that moron once!"

Tommen simply responded with a groan into the couch. 

"What's the name of the gal that hath stolen my son's heart?"

"Her name's Beth. Beth Cassel." Tommen mumbled. "Beautiful curly red hair."

"Alright then. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Uncle Jaime's an idiot!" 

"Why's Jaime an idiot? Though, to be honest, he's not the brightest bulb."

Tommen then sprang up from the couch. "Uncle Jaime told me to find out some of her interests and make them my own."

"Sounds like fairly decent advice. How did it suck?"

"I made a comment about tennis and then she asked if I liked it. Next thing I know, I make an ass of myself on the tennis court!"

"Was the interest the first thing you picked up on?"

"... Yes."

"See, Tom. the first thing she mentions can't be the thing you guys 'click' on, y'know. For all you know, she could have said ballet! And you don't have the legs for that, my boy. You might wanna bulk up a bit. Girls love muscular guys! Hell, I could barely keep the girls off of me when I was younger!"

Wow. For once, Dad might have a solid point. I'm nowhere nearly as buff as Gendry is or even Uncle Jaime. Although, looking at Robert Baratheon's large gut did make him think ... just how buff was he back in high school?

 

_Gendry_

"Hey, Tom. How's your plan to woo the lovely Miss Cassel?" Gendry teased with his bright smile. 

"Sucking. Horribly." Tommen said. 

"Ok. What happened?" 

"I asked and listened to Dad for advice"

"You asked Dad for dating advice? Asking Dad for dating advice is like asking a volcano to erupt; both things are gonna blow up in your face! ... How did it blow up in your face?"

"Well, Dad said that I should probably get more buff. To ... get her attention. And I ... grabbed some of the biggest ones I could find and ..."

"Oh, Tom!"

"I shouldn't have grabbed the 50s, and I had to be dragged to the nurse's office with Robin's help."

"Well, here's a good firm suggestion from your older brother. You can barely talk to this girl, and so far, you managed to make yourself look worse. Get yourself a wingman!"

"A wingman?"

"Yeah,  a wingman. A good mate of yours to make you sound and look good to her so you don't mess up! I've been a wingman and the one in need of one. And you, baby brother, really need one!"

Someone to make me look good. Perfect!

 

_Myrcella_

"I'm guessing Gendry's idea didn't work then, huh?" Myrcella said as she gently mussed her brother's golden curls. 

"No, Cella. It worked so well that I'm on a date with Beth as of this moment!" Tommen mumbled into his pillow. 

"What happened?"

"More like what _didn't_ happen! Robin completely fucked up as my wingman!"

"You asked Robin to be your wingman, Tom? What were you thinking? He's got as much dating knowledge as Benny Blackwood!"

"That was my mistake. Robin started going on about how I like playing with Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers and that I have a fear of beets! A fear of beets, Cella!"

"Well, at least he tried to make you look good. He mentioned you like animals!"

"Robin mentioned that I like to knit them clothes and dress them up, like I was a lonely old hag!"

"How bout you write her a note? A love note! Write down every thing you feel about her, what you like about her; just write it all down and put it in her locker! You'l get all that pressure off of you!"

"... OK. I'll give it a shot." It's better than nothing.

 

_The Hound_

"Oy, Baratheon!"

Oh, crap! One thing was certain in P.E., if you managed to get the attention of the Hound, you are undoubtedly fucked!

"Yeah, what's up Coach?"

"Fuck's wrong with you? Usually, you're my fastest runner!" 

 _At least I'm not fucked._ "Sorry, coach. I've been ... distracted lately." 

"Girl trouble?"

"Yup. I think I made a mistake. There's this girl that I like and my sister gave me the bright idea of writing a love note to her and leaving it in her locker."

"Lemme guess. You put it in the wrong locker?"

"Worse. I did it hastily that I didn't sign my name!"

"You're fucked, kid. But there's one thing you haven't done yet."

"Coach, I fucked up in every conceivable way. There's nothing that I could do that would convince Beth that I'm not a total weirdo psycho loser."

"You could be straight with her. Tell her you like her and want to take her out. Sometimes, honesty's the best policy kid!"

Play straight. Yeah. Alright. That'll work. 

 

_Beth_

"So, you went to all that trouble just to ask me out, Tom?"

"Well, yeah. But you're worth it, Miss Cassel!"

"Well, you are certainly worth my time, Mister Baratheon!"

She then pressed her lips on his. It felt heavenly. Like getting hit with a fresh winter breeze carrying the warmth of an apple pie. 

"One question though. Are you really afraid of beets?"

"I'm not afraid of them, I just don't like them. And Robin is not allowed near you, ever again!"


	122. Debts, Vows and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon

He had all of them within him. My strength in battle, my sweet Serra's semblance and all of her brother's wit; a man that many called the Spider, but whom I eagerly called brother. 

My boy looks so much like my love; with his big blue eyes. Though sweet Serra's hair was beautifully pale golden streaked with silver, his was the inverse; lustrous silver-blonde hair with small streaks of pale gold woven into it.  Yet, he also reminds him of his youthful days; even as he has my lithe build and handsome looks with his straight hair brushing his shoulders and rather long eyelashes.

It had been a crime to separate me from my boy, but it needed to be done. And he enjoyed showering him with gifts. It brought a smile to his face whenever he gave him his favorite sweet of candied plums. He has his mother's smile. 

He had never met the ever-famed "Silver Prince" but he looks so much like him; according to the Spider. So much so that it has clouded the Griffin's feeble mind. Nearly all of them had been under his employ to help educate him. Lemore, Haldon and the ever-gallant Ser Rolly. Only the Griffin seemed to be fooled. But love does make the heart grow fonder with time. I can almost sympathize with the man. I had made such promises to seat him on the Iron Throne that all the Westerosi cunts want to sit on. A promise that will happen, no matter the cost.

To be a true ruler, as he would be. Trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, studied history and law and poetry. A septa of Westeros instructing him in the mysteries of the Faith of the Seven since he was old enough to understand them. Living with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. The perfect prince but still half a boy for all that, with little and less experience of the world and all its woes. 

Even now, the image of her burned in his head. Time does not heal all wounds. She made me promise. Promise that our son would be meant for great things. To be more than a simple cheesemonger or silk merchant. To be a king. 

The blood of the dragon flowed so much throughout him. Flames bright and dark. Thus, it was only fitting that he name him for his most famous ancestor: Aegor. Twas better than naming him Daemon. All the men who had been granted that name had all failed. Nor would he call him Haegon or Aenys; who had been betrayed by those who granted him mercy. That would surely spell death for my boy. Though, whenever his blood boiled, it reminded him of the tales of the Brightflame's infamous temper. 

A good name; a name to be proud of. But that had to be taken from him too. For he had to play the ultimate form of mummery. That of a long-lost prince; son of another dead prince who would have been as great a king as Aegor would be. Aegon Targaryen VI of His Name. Often the greatest mummery, is the one you don't know you're in. Even though it hurts me that you must call a stranger your father. But Serra and I will truly be at peace and resting in the heavens once it's done.

You will be a king, my boy. You will be all that and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, my ever loving viewers, this is based off of the Brightfyre theory.


	123. Our Word Yet Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Willam Dustin survives and must deal with Ned's secret and a wife who would prefer a man he once called a friend than him

It was seven against one. All of them had grown to be good friends and faithful compatriots. The new Lord Eddard Stark; solemn-faced but fierce as the wolf on his jerkin. Martyn Cassel; the head of the Stark household guard and Ned's closest confidante. Ethan Glover; who was Brandon's squire now serving his brother willingly to help avenge the travesty that had been done to them. Mark Ryswell, soft of speech and gentle of heart. Theo Wull; as fierce as the mountains that bore him. And the crannogman Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. 

The three in front of them were the most famed, noble and strongest of the Mad King's kingsguard. The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower the White Bull. The snide Ser Oswell Whent; with the black bat of Harrenhal on his helm. And Ser Arthur Dayne; the Sword of the Morning, all the more deadly with the famed sword of Dawn strapped on his back. The blade was resplendent unsheathed as well. 

He and Wull had gone off to face the White Bull in combat. Ryswell and Cassel facing against the White Bat. Howland had already been knocked back by Ser Arthur who now faced Ned and Ethan. He didn't know how long their respective battles went on. It felt like forever; a true fight to the death. The both of them together did nothing in their effort to overwhelm the White Bull; but what was to be expected from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? Wull ultimately fell as his ax bit deep into HIghtower's leg, and his head was quickly removed, but not before he urged his own blade into the Lord Commander's throat. 

The valiant barrow lord had felt as if he was on death's door; exhausted from the fighting. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Gerold Hightower of Oldtown, dead at his hands. One could easily marvel and praise him for his accomplishment. But it did not feel like one. _Brandon and I often talked of the glory we'd bring in the coming wars. This is not glorious._

It was then, he took notice that his lord was gone, and the crannogman. Suddenly making his way into the tower, he saw them. But they were in the company of others. Lyanna Stark; Brandon and Ned's lovely and lively sister, laid dead in a pool of blood and dead blue rose petals. Ned held her dead clammy hand; muttering a prayer of sorts. Howland Reed held a small babe in his arms while a woman by his side was cooing at it. 

On that day, they made a promise. The same that Ned had promised his sister. "My word yet lives, my lord," Willam said, evoking the words of his house. 

* * *

He found himself feeling unease. Lord of the Barrowlands, husband to Lady Barbrey Ryswell. _I didn't think it would happen so soon; my lordship and a wife._ Though he was not stupid regarding his wife. Brandon had repeatedly bragged about bedding her after he came back from the Rills. They had spent quite little time getting to know one another. _As much as I can hope, she will always love Brandon more than I. Everyone wanted the man. And how can I compare to a phantom of the past?_

His uncle Harlon and great-uncle Jonnel had come to greet him. Barbrey stood in front of them, standing tall and proud. There seemed to be tears in her eyes. 

"I welcome you back to Barrowton, my lord." she said with a smile. 

"I told you I would come back atop my new proud steed!" Willam said with a smile. 

* * *

Within the year, he had truly felt blessed. A lord, a husband and now a father. 

Bethany and Medgar are happy and as healthy as can be. They'll both grow to be lively and lovely. As his friend's children would. From what he had heard and gathered about, Howland had a little girl and Ned had a little boy named for their new king. He found himself envisioning Medgar training with his uncle Harlon and becoming as famed an axeman as he is. And Bethnay becoming a great beauty as Lyanna was. But that caused his thoughts to darken. Ned had lost his sister so tragically, he couldn't imagine anyone or anything daring to harm his children.

Yet, they drifted again to Barbrey. As happy as he was with the babes, she barely seemed to acknowledge them. She looked at them as if she had been seeing a ghost. He should have suspected. The maester had said that she had an easy birth. 

It is then he asks her with little tact. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

She stares at him blankly. After what felt like eons, she whispered; "A boy. I named him after my father, Rodrik."

You were always going to haunt me Brandon. Even now. "I'll write to Lord Rodrik. Ask him to bring the boy here. No mother should be separated from her child."

* * *

It's strange seeing him grow up alongside his brother and sister. It almost felt like seeing Brandon for the first time when he came to foster in Barrowton. 

 _I'm surrounded by ghosts._ Rodrik Snow; who is the exact image of his father in his youth with shaggy brown hair and grey eyes. And there was his nephew Domeric Bolton; who reminded him so much of his lost companion Mark Ryswell. Dom is as soft-spoken and gentle-hearted as he was; even his semblance to him was quite uncanny. Except the eyes; bright hazel with icy blue flecks. He was already proving himself to be an excellent horseman and as well-versed in history as the maester himself. 

All of the children often played together; Rodrik, Bethany, Medgar, Dom, his ward Edwyle Mormont, and even Duncan, his uncle's bastard son upon a crannogwoman. That had surprised him. His mind then drifted to the boy; Jon Snow. He wondered just what was he like. Is he a good lad as Ned hoped he'd be? As mad as the Targaryens? Or as wild and selfish as his uncle and mother? 

Though, he could not truly blame Lady Lyanna for the war. Not truly. Any man would be foolish to not find her entrancing. His father once wrote to Lord Rickard asking for her hand for him, but Lord Rickard politely rejected it. Wild, willful, lovely and dead before her time. Mayhaps, Rhaegar Targaryen saw that and the iron underneath her pale silky skin?

But Brandon's foolhardiness was more to blame. Though, every one forgets that. Brandon who foolishly and gallantly went off to rescue his sister, thinking his endeavor would be like a song. Rescuing his fair maiden sister from the clutches of the Mad King. Brandon, who he was once willing to call his brother, had tried to steal a maiden from his loving and dutiful brother. Brandon, who throughout any sense of logic out of his giant head and thought more often with his little one. 

He often saw him all over again in his son. But Rodrik was not Brandon. Although he bares his look, Rodrik is far more kinder and considerate than his father. Mischievous but not selfish. And like him, Rodrik is a born warrior; mastering weapons with ease. Everything came easy to him, much like it did with his father. Except, Rodrik might just learn and know what "hard work" means. And he will certainly charm a few ladies once he's older. 

At times, he fears he regrets bringing him to Barrowton. He loves the boy much like his own blood. He often sees Barbrey stare at him longingly. M _ayhaps, she's wondering just what kind of life she could have had, if Brandon were still alive._

_I shouldn't think that. I've come to love her after all this time. But I cannot compare to a ghost. And my word yet lives._

* * *

Though he wished to see Howland again, it was nice to see Ned again. They talked for what felt like a lifetime. They talked of their children and their lives. 

He half expected Ned to go to the tourney hosted in Lannisport, celebrating with his old friend the king. Ned had grimaced at that. "Tourney's have left a bad taste in my mouth, old friend," he said. 

Of course. How could I forget? Everything started at that damn tourney in Harrenhal. The ghosts of past making their way into their heads. But there were pleasant things about the past as well as haunting. He recalled how young Benjen had gotten drunk and then attempted to court Lord Whent's fair daughter. The jests he had made with Jeffory Mallister. Elbert Arryn chiding his squire and lack-witted cousin Jasper Waynwood for putting sausage in his scabbard. The way Ned blushed whenever Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall was even mentioned. 

But the past must stay where it is: in the past. Along with the ghosts of it, no matter how many times they irk their way to the present. But they will not stop. 

* * *

Once more he had been surprised. He had not expected Ned to visit Barrowton; he would have sent a raven informing him of his impending visit. But it was a welcome one all the same. 

It was a rare sight to have his lord and friend here, happy and smiling as can be. Lady Catelyn looked as beautiful and lovely as he last saw her. Though, he would not see her ample teats like before. Little Robb Stark had taken after his mother with his red-brown hair and blue eyes, but he was all Ned in everything else. Little Sansa Stark was her mother in miniature and would likely be just as, if not more beautiful than her. The babe on Lady Catelyn's chest was Arya. She was undoubtedly Ned's child, with her stringy brown hair and soft grey eyes. And he could tell that they were expecting another little wolf in their pack. 

Then there was the others. Their ward, Theon Greyjoy, a gangly little boy of ten namedays and a mop of messy black hair. He seemed rather uneasy. Then there was the boy; Jon Snow. It was almost like looking at Ned if he were younger. Whatever softness he should have had in his face, it was beginning to leave him. Sharp-featured and a bit gangly with dark grey eyes that bordered on black. He looked as uneasy as the Greyjoy boy. He almost flinched when he came to his level. 

"I remember when your father first brought you to the North. You were a fiercely tiny little thing then, and here you are, still quite small. But you'll grow into a strapping fine lad and a great warrior. Won't you, Jon?" 

Jon Snow then nodded his head vigorously and smiled and giggled quite sheepishly as he tussled the hair on his head. 

Barbrey and Lady Catelyn had rather polite conversation as he and Ned had observed the children at play. His youngest wolf was sleeping at ease in her father's chest. Theon and Edwyle were engaged in a wrestling match. Sansa and Bethany were acting as the captive maidens while the boys were acting as the knights coming to their rescue. The older boys, Rodrik and Duncan were acting as their captors. 

_It almost sickened him. If only it were that easy, my boy._

Both Jon and Rodrik were getting along together. It was almost like seeing the two Stark brothers together. Both of them doing something that they had rarely done: smiling and laughing happily. Ned seemed to see that too, and he saw tears threatening to leave his already saddening eyes. They did not see eye to eye like most brothers do, but they did love each other. 

 _Mayhaps it would be best if I foster his "bastard"._ From what he seen and heard, Catelyn did not like him in the slightest. The boy seemed a sober and dutiful lad, not one to garner someone's ire. She just hates that he's a bastard. _Southrons_. 

Bethany then came to Jon's side, giggling. "My hero!" she cried out, as she then gave Jon a peck on the cheek. The shy boy then turned a bright shade of red. 

"Looks like you have rescued yourself a princess, brother!" Little Robb laughed. Jon was still red and did not say a thing. 

"I am a princess and Jon will be my knight to come to my rescue!" Bethany cried out. 

_If only things could be so easy, sweetling. In another time and life, I would be asking a different man to wed you to Jon. But my word will live and my oath will be kept. No matter what._


	124. Howling (Lyanna/Ashara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna is the Stark Ashara came to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had unhorsed Rhaegar and crowned Ashara queen of love and beauty, might she have looked to me instead of Stark?

They are going to kill her. They are so going to kill her. 

She can barely wrap her head around it. Here she was, with the object of her brother's desires. Ashara Dayne; the most fairest lady in all of the Seven Kingdoms. And she was lying by her side. She can barely comprehend as to how and why this had happened. 

All she can recall is that she came to talk to her regarding Ned. She had seen the both of them eyeing one another like two wolves in heat. Brandon did too, yet Lady Ashara did not seem to acknowledge him. Or mayhaps she did know and simply did not care. She did know that Brandon kept remarking under his breath about "the taste of Dornish cunny". 

They had talked and she faintly recalled a tingle in her eye that reminded her of Brandon a bit. Things felt hazy as she felt Ashara's lips crashing her own. She remembered asking why she was kissing her, and she gave her an interesting response. 

_"Everyone is missing half the world's pleasure, then. I look at your rosy lips and they delight me. I look at your hips and curves, and they delight me!" she said as she grabbed them and pulled her closer to her body._

She then remembers the rest of the night. How Ashara had sweetly kissed her neck til her own lips swelled. How she had done the same, lowering herself to her bosom. Ashara giving her direction in how to lick her breast and how she greedily nipped at her teats with her teeth. Her hands roaming about and lightly squeezing her arse. 

The feeling of ecstasy she felt as Ashara Dayne began to kiss her down below. She bit into her cheeks so hard so she wouldn't scream. That's why I'm tasting blood. But that left some other questions in her head. _Should I leave her be? Should I wake her up less Ned and Brandon know?_

_But ... she was right about one thing. Everyone is missing half the world's pleasure. Why haven't most woman have done this? It felt wonderful and glorious._

Suddenly, Ashara had awoken. "Good morning, lover!" Ashara whispered into her ear as she nipped at it. It had her rolling her eyes. 

_By the Gods, let them kill me. I'll die screaming either way!!_


	125. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysa and Stannis like each other a lot and desperately try to ask the other out on a date. But things get in the way ...

"OK. So remember, the protons and the electrons can't be touching one another ..."

_I wish you'd touch me, Stannis. At least a little bit. Touching my hand wouldn't be so bad._

"Now photons are different than protons and electrons. For instance ..." 

_I've been crushing on Stannis Baratheon so, so hard! That hot mop of black hair that almost covers his smoldering dark-blue eyes!! I know it won't be complete madness if we touch. We're not protons and electrons._

"You need to remember that the atom ..."

_Sexy. It's so sexy the way he talks about physics. If only we were talking about chemistry. Especially ours ..._

"Lysa? Lysa? Lysa??"

That wasn't Stannis gruff voice which often made her shiver. _Edmure ..._

"Eddie? What is it?" Lysa said trying to sound composed. 

"I need to go to the bathroom!!"

"Eddie! You're a big boy now, you can go by yourself!"

"I can't! The librarian needs a grown-up to come with me. She doesn't trust anyone with the key!"

_Damn you, you crotchety old bitch!_

"Go with him. Besides, I'm gonna have to pick up Renly from after-school and we're almost done anyway. I'm sure you'll be fine." he said. 

"OK. Thanks," she said with a smile as she watched him go. I didn't realize that he had a cute butt ... 

"Lysa!! I really have to go!! I need to pee!!"

"Alright, calm down!!"

* * *

"So, did you do it Stannis?" 

"Back off, Vic. She had to go anyway. Her little brother was acting up and the tutoring session was nearly over."

"Didn't you also say that you had to pick up your brother?"

"Which brother did he have to pick up? The little one or the one who likes to drink?"

"I'm pretty sure that Renly will pick up on that when he's older," Stannis remarked to his friends, Victarion Greyjoy and Lyanna Stark. 

"Every man drinks," Victarion said bluntly, to which Lyanna elbowed him. 

_Not every man drinks like Robert. And I hope that Renly doesn't turn out like him. Though it would have been better if the court had granted custody to me instead of Robert. They don't know how it's like. It's like taken care of a child, and an over-grown one who wouldn't stop crying and whining._

"Just say something nice about her that you like about her. What do you like about Lysa?" Lyanna asked. 

"I like her hair," Stannis said simply enough. 

"Yeah, Ned said almost the same thing when he was crushing on Lysa's sister Catelyn. I'm pretty sure Brandon said the same thing too ..."

"Catelyn went out with both of your brothers? At the same time?"

"No, you dolt! Vic, sometimes I wonder if you have iron nuts and bolts in your head at times," Lyanna said exasperated as she palmed her face with her hand. "Brandon went out with her once and was bored and disappointed. Ned and Catelyn have been going strong for almost a year."

"You know, I'll just tell Lysa to meet at the library for our next session and then tell her that I like her hair. That's fine, right?" 

"YES! OF COURSE THAT'S FINE!" Lyanna said, raising her arms up with excitement. 

With that in mind, he went to go straight by Lysa's locker. She's usually there around this time. 

_And right on cue, there she was talking with Cersei Lannister of all people. Why are they talking? Last he heard, Lysa hated Cersei and Cersei hated her. Wait, why am I thinking of Cersei Lannister?_

_Lysa's hair looked even more beautiful tied with hairpins. It made her look even more resplendent ..._

"Stannis! Hi!" 

"I'm just going to leave you be, now. Later, losers!" Cersei said. 

"Nice to see you too," Stannis growled under his breath. 

"So, is there something you wanted to say?" Lysa asked.

"I was just wondering how well you did on the exam?"

"Oh, yeah. It started to come real easy! But I'm still going to need with math. The binomial stuff is mind-boggling!"

"So, let's meet at the library at our usual time?"

"Yeah, alright!"

_Now, just compliment her about her hair. Simple yet poignant._

"Um, Lysa! I'd just like to say th - "

"HEY, STANNY BOY!!"

Oh, no! Robert!! Could there be anything more embarrassing?

"HEY, STANNY! WE NEED TO GO! FIND SOME HIGH-CLASS FINE-ASS GIIRRLSS!!"

"Robert! It's the middle of the day, and in school! You're drunk already?!"

"Stannis, maybe you should take him to the nurse's office? I can help you!"

"YEESSS!! THE NUR - HEELLLLLLOOOO, NURSE!! AWOOOOOOGA!! HONK-HONK!!" Robert said, ogling and air-grabbing at Lysa's chest. 

"I, uh, um, I should probably go. I'll see you around!"

_Robert, I sweat I will kill you!!_

* * *

"It was soo embarassing, Cat! I had my speech completely prepared, and then came Robert. Completely hammered and practically groping me!" Lysa exclaimed. 

"I'll kill that man! Ned be damned, I will literally kill him! And he groped you?!" Cat practically roared. 

"Not exactly. It was more like ..." Lysa said, describing the action with her hands. 

"Still gonna kill him," Catelyn said, comfortingly hugging her. 

"And I had it all prepared and everything. I knew exactly what I was going to say, and Robert ruined it. I'm not sure if I can even say it again!"

"Well, why don't you just write it all down, then hand it to him? It kinda takes the pressure off in saying it!"

"Yeah, yeah, that could work! ... You sure that I shouldn't do what Cersei said? Show a bit more skin? Strut like I own the world?"

"I don't think you want the kind of attention that Cersei Lannister grabs at. Like Roberts, for example."

"You're right. Thanks, Cat!"

* * *

"Hi, Lysa."

"Hi, Stannis. Oh, who's this little cutie pie?" she said, cooing at the small boy holding Stannis' hand. 

"This is my little brother, Renly. I'm just going to leave him at the Quiet Area before we study. Renly, this is ... my good friend Lysa Tully."

"Hi, Renly! Your brother's a really good teacher!"

Renly then looked up at his brother. "Stannis, she's pretty!"

"Oh! He's such a charmer! So, we'll drop off our brothers at the Kid's Section and then study?"

"Sounds reasonable enough"

" ... Now you need to remember that the binomials are the sum of two regular monomials. But they're not like any regular algebraic equation, so you can't solve for x ..." 

_x + y equals us, I know it!_

"... So that's why this equation would be x2 − y2 ." 

"Alright, I think I'm getting it!" 

_Now, get it out of the way and give him the note!_

"Stannis, there's something I wanna give you. So, I'll just give it to you now before I forget."

_What the hell am I doing? It's quiet, there's no one else in this part of the library but us! This is the perfect opportunity! Kiss him! No, wait! Just give him the note! No, kiss him!!_

"What is it?" 

"Well, it's a - "

"Excuse me! Are these your siblings?" said a librarian. By her hands, was a scowling Edmure and Renly. 

_Damnit, Eddie!_

"Yes. What is the problem here?" Stannis asked. 

"These two boys were fighting and completely disrupting Reading Time in the Kid's Section!"

"Lysa, I'm really sorry. Let's ... do this again another time." Stannis said, grabbing Renly by the hand. 

"O-oh, OK. S-See you ... around," she said faltering. 

"Lysa! I need to go to th - "

"Shut up, Eddie!"

* * *

"So, did Stannis say anything about the note?" Catelyn asked. 

"No! ... Because I'm not even sure that I gave it to him!" 

"Wait. What do you mean by it?"

"Well, we got surprised by the librarian that I know I gave him _something_! Ohh, I feel like an idiot!" 

"Alright, Lysa. Why don't we just take a breather and just celebrate Edmure's birthday? I'm gonna go and find Ned and his brother."

Lysa sighed. _Great, just great. I'm pretty sure that I ruined whatever chance I've got with him._

She then saw Eddie running around with his best friends; Marq and Patrek. _They're lucky; probably not thinking of girls right now._  

"Stannis? Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?" Catelyn asked ... _Stannis? Stannis??_

"Lysa invited me. Or well, invited Renly, I guess. We're do I put the present?"

Catelyn then led him to the gift area. _Crap! I was not prepared for this! What am I gonna do? What am I going to say??_

"Um, Lysa? Could I talk to you?" said Stannis. _He looks even more hotter than before!! His messy mop of black hair was now neatly combed and really showed just how smoldering his dark-blue eyes really are!!_

"Oh, um, yeah, sure!"

 _Don't freak out! Don't freak out!_ They then walked to the corridor close to her room. _Don't freak out now!!_

"I just uh, wow, I don't even know how to say this. But um, I found your note in the, uh, invitation," he said, pulling it out of his pants pocket. 

_He did get the note! He got the note!! Oh, wait. He got the note._

"Um, yeah. It, it's jus - "

"It's very flattering. Especially that you like my, uh, "smoldering eyes like a blue flame"," Stannis said with a small grin. Grin? Stannis grinning? OMG, he looks so cuute!!

"You, you like it?"

"Yes, yes I do. And if you want, I'd really like to take you out sometime."

_He's staring right at me! Now's the time to say something! Or better yet ..._

"I really would," she said, leaning closer to him, giving him a small kiss on the lips. _Wow, they're soft._  

"Th-Tha-That was ... nice. But I thought we're supposed to do that after two dates?"

"Screw the rules this time, Stannis. So ... do you ... wanna try that again?" she said, smiling coquettishly. 

"Y-Ye-Yes. I-I-I'd li-like that." Stannis said, now leaning closer to her. He gently held her by the shoulders, and their lips touched again. 

"Do you want to try that again?" she said, giggling a bit. 

Just as they leaned in close, they then heard yelling. 

"Crap. I think my brother's fighting with your brother again. We shou - "

"They can take care of that themselves. And there are other adults around. Can we kiss again?" Stannis asked. 

"Yes, yes we can!"


	126. Descriptive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew the Quiet Wolf liked to send such dirty letters?

She found herself giggling. She had only meant to tease him a bit, much like the light teasing they had done back at Harrenhal. But this ... this was something else entirely. 

The other letters she had received by his hand were very much like him. Trying to describe her beauty much like a poet or a bard were. But it always ended with the simply sweet sentiment. "I wish I can hold you in my arms and see your smile again, my fallen star". It made her blush, surprisingly. 

When she told him to write something else; be inventive, imaginative. Not once did she expect this. This was only the third letter he had sent her though. Mayhaps, there will be more just like it?

"Ashara? What has gotten you like this? Why are you giggling so?" Elia asked as she approached. 

"Oh, um, nothing! Simply a jape I remembered!" Ashara said in surprise, trying to cover the letter. 

"Really? I haven't seen you this amused since that squire had mixed up Oberyn and Arthur's armour. What is so interesting?"

"Nothing, Elia!" she said as her best friend had eyed her suspiciously. 

_I really shouldn't show this to her. This is far too private. Yet, I does feel tempted to show t -_

Suddenly, Elia swiped her arm swiftly taking the letter away from her grasp. _Oh, no!_

"E-Elia! Give it back!"

"I will. I just want to see what has yo s - Oh, my!"

Suddenly, Ashara found herself going red. 

"'My dearest Ashara, it has been too long. ... Without you by my side, I truly feel like a wolf in heat. It makes me feel tempted to ... take you like the wolf I truly am'? Is this really from your "sweet, noble Ned Stark", Ashara?" Elia said teasing. _No fair, you're always the responsible one, El!_

"Elia, ju-just give it back please!"

"Lady Ashara Dayne, are you embarrassed? You're redder than a Dornish pepper!"

"'The next time we meet, when we are good and married, I vow that I will ... howl into your mountainous moons'? Oh, my! Now, this is truly scandalous!" Elia giggled. 

"Princess Elia Nymeros Martell, I demand you give me back my letter!"

"This doesn't even sound like it's the first letter Eddard has sent you. Is it, Ash?" Elia said, more teasing than ever. She then went back to the letter. "'As we are wedded and bedded, you will be able to properly feel my flanks as you embark on your ride'? By the Gods, Ashara! A poor sweet northern boy and you have him talking like a heathen!" 

She had promised at Harrenhal that she would make a proper dornishmen out of him. It appears that I have accomplished it all too well ... 

"So, Ash? Is this the first letter the ever-honourable Eddard Stark hath sent you?" 

"If, if I show you the other two letters, will you drop this and never speak of it again?!" 

"I swear on Oberyn's ever-black heart!"

* * *

"Alright then, you promised not to tell?"

"I gave you my word. Though, can I say one thing?"

"What?"

"I wish Rhaegar were like Eddard!"


	127. Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hooded man in Winterfell not only wants vengeance on the Boltons but is ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He came upon a man striding in the opposite direction, a hooded cloak flapping behind him. When they found themselves face-to-face their eyes met briefly. The man put a hand on his dagger. “Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer.”  
> “I’m not. I never … I was ironborn.”  
> “False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?”  
> “The gods are not done with me,” Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick’s cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell’s groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. “Lord Ramsay is not done with me.”  
> The man looked, and laughed. “I leave you to him, then.”

He looked at the man, aghast. He came upon a man striding in the opposite direction, a hooded cloak flapping behind him. When they found themselves face-to-face their eyes met briefly. His eyes ... Almost like Lord Ramsey's eyes, but different. Stern, yet bore a sense of warmth. 

The man put a hand on his dagger. “Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer.”

His voice! Much like the Leech Lord. But harsher; not a spidery soft whisper. Iron tones reverberated on his tongue. 

“I’m not. I never … I was ironborn.”

“False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?” he asked, looking at Reek with amazement. Reek, Reek, rhymes with freak!

“The gods are not done with me,” Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick’s cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell’s groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. “Lord Ramsay is not done with me.”

The man looked at the hand, fascinated. He saw the faint curve of his lips turn into a frown. His hands then came to his hood, and he uncovered himself. 

His face looked as soft and pale as porcelain, yet there were faint scars that ran around his left cheek. His hair was long with dark curls nearly framing his face. Something about his face seemed much like Lord Ramsay or even Lord Roose's plain face, but it was kinder. 

"The Boltons won't be done with the North. My family had wanted it for so long since the days of the Red King. My father and brother will do whatever they can to keep Winterfell and the North. But I will not let them be the ruin of it. And I know you won't let them ruin it either. An ironborn, the salvation of the North, it's almost laughable!" the man chuckled. That brought a surprising amount of warmth to the more cold castle of Winterfell. 

"I'll leave you to the rest then, Theon of House Greyjoy," the man said as the man made his leave. 


	128. First or Seconds? (Lysa/Brandon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She may be second to Catelyn in almost every way, but she had Brandon first ...

She hated her. Just how high and mighty she always seemed to be. Better than her at every thing. 

Best behaved. Best at stitching. Best at swimming. Everything! Cat always gets everything! 

_Father loves her best. Uncle Brynden loves her best. Edmure loves her best. And Petyr ... Petyr loves her more than anything! I love you Petyr! I love you more than Cat ever will._

But her stupid betrothed doesn't. How can Cat be so damn stupid? How does she not see it? He's been eyeing every kitchen wench, busy looking at their posteriors and chests as he's talking to her. He's been undressing them with his gleaming grey eyes and she doesn't know. ... Or maybe she does know?

_Stupid, stupid, Cat! Thinks she's so great. So proud, so uppity._

Brandon Stark, the heir of Winterfell and the North. The wild wolf, they call him. For the first time Lysa realizes how very odd it is that he's been matched with Cat. Because there is nothing wild about Cat, not in the slightest; she is all honour and duty, like their septa taught them. Cat would make herself be happy no matter who they wed her to. Is she truly doing that? Believing that she will be happy once she's wed to him? 

Yet, these thoughts escape her mind as she comes to his chamber door and lets herself in. He looks just as wild with his normally neat hair now in messy tufts. He even smiles in his sleep. She disrobes suddenly, and slides into his bed. Everything about him is broad and muscled. She then presses himself closely to his body. It's almost soothing. Suddenly, her hand moves closer to him. His cock is already up and about; hard as stone. 

It's then the "wild wolf" wakes up. He looks startled at first. His eyes are groggy with sleep. But they soon come alive with light. He really does have pretty eyes. Very pretty eyes. 

She barely even registers his lips on hers. So forceful, so demanding, so filled with want. His tongue darting about her mouth. It makes her moan in ecstasy. His hands are strong, as she feels them touch and grip all around her body. His tongue and teeth move all around her breasts. Is this what it feels like? To be this wanted?

Suddenly, he slips himself into her. It is not gentle. Not in the least. He does it without warning. His hands go to her hips and grips them firmly and hard. More force than she could have imagined. He practically raises her legs up and has his way. In and out, as fast as he can. Faster and harder. It's overwhelming; she can't help but moan. She's not sure whether it is in pain or pleasure. Mayhaps both. 

Her legs hopelessly flail about on his back as he keeps pumping into her. She feels her body spasm. Her small moans from before mean nothing compared to the one that comes out of her mouth. She feels completely weightless and at his mercy. He then looks content as he lays on top of her. A smile of pure bliss etched on his face. 

When she wakes, does she realize just what she's done. She has lain with Cat's betrothed. The one she's stupidly prattled on about since she was two-and-ten. The one that had motivated her to learn and know everything and anything she could about the North, so her betrothed wouldn't think her stupid and foolish. He realizes it too, she thinks, when he wakes up and looks at her with surprise. 

As they go and get their clothes, there is a knock on the door. It's Catelyn. 

"Brandon ... wha-what's goi - L-Lysa?!!" she said with shock. Shock that she had never heard of. 

"Catelyn. Cat. L-Let me explain, luv!" Brandon said, his hand still clutching at his somewhat-undone breaches. 

"Yo-You, Yo-You. You! Ho-How? H-How co-could yo-you do th-this t-t-to me?!!" Cat cried out, as tears streamed down her eyes. 

 _No, Cat. I didn't want to hurt you like this!_ "Cat, let me expl - "

Suddenly, she hears then feels a smack across her face. 

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU BOTH!! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, EVER!!"

Within the hour, her father Lord Hoster and her uncle Ser Brynden the Blackfish were roaring. Not just at each other, as they usually did, but at the both of them. The both of them are hurriedly married in the godswood of Riverrun. Petyr tried to stop it, only to be told that it was folly. Edmure was likely told not to see her. 

I never wanted to be his bride, Cat. I didn't want to hurt you, not truly. Not like this. The words are on her tongue but she can't bring herself to say anything. Brandon doesn't say anything either. No japes, no smiles adorning his face. For once, he looks serious and somber. 

We will truly be a lord and lady of ice and frost ...


	129. The God's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran explores further into the past ... a little too far into the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The past has already been written, the ink is dry"

"There is still much you need to know Brandon Stark," the three-eyed raven said. His voice as somber as ever. "There is much about what you have learned as falsehoods, and so you must learn and know. We must go back, back to where it all started." 

His mind was filled with excitement and also dread. _What was here that I need to know? What story of the past will I see?_

All of sudden, he found himself in a lush green pasture. A godswood, he realized, as he saw a small stream running through it. He looked back and saw possibly the largest castle he had ever seen. There were five towers of dizzying size, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The castle was three times bigger than Winterfell. The weirwood heart tree had a terrible visage full of hatred, with a twisted mouth and flaring eyes, and thirteen deep marks carved into it. 

It was then he had taken note of the two people by the bark of the tree. The two of them were giggling to their hearts content without a care in the world. The man holding the woman close to him looked quite familiar. His figure was rather lean and sinewy; rather lanky as well. His eyes were grey, but they had an innocence and dreaminess that reminded him so much of his sister Sansa. He wanted to say Jon, but the young man was far older than his brother when he saw him last. It was ... Father!

_Father had never giggled so easily. But here, he was younger and not burdened by duty._

He then had his attention to the woman by his father. She was certainly not his mother. No, the lady's hair was as dark as the midnight sky that loomed over Winterfell. Her dress was purple with a pattern of stars and swords going down from her shoulder to her hips. Her lips were full and red. He briefly saw her eyes; the colour matching the colour of her dress, but they were darker and hauntingly lively. 

"Ned ... Oh, Ned!" the woman moaned out. 

"Ash ... I love you ..." Father moaned to the woman. As confident as she seemed, she blushed as demurely as a young maid. 

"I love you, Ned. I want you!" she moaned out as she began to loosen the bodice of her dress. Her breasts then hung loosely. 

"Ash ... I ..." 

"I want you, Ned. I need you. Now!" she said as she grabbed his father's hands and placed them on her breasts. He seemed hesitant but then began to knead them like a baker would bread. 

Suddenly, she began to moan more than before. His father began to mouth and kiss all around her body. Her hands moved to remove Eddard Stark's jerkin.

_What's the point in all of this? Why was the three-eyed raven showing him this? Did he intend to show me all of this? ... What is that woman doing with her mouth??!_

"Father!!"

Their heads then jerked up. 

"What was - Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I did. It was the power of the Old Gods. They command us to fuck!"

"As my lady commands!" Eddard Stark said cheekily.

_No, this needs to stop. This needs to stop right now, this instant! Father shouldn't be doing such things! He sho -_

Suddenly, he found himself back in the cave filled with weirwood roots. He found himself short of breath. 

"Wh-Wh-Why? Why did you show me that? What was the point of it?" 

"Nothing is ever as they seem"


	130. Of Salt and Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Theon proves to his father just how ironborn he is

He couldn't believe it. Pyke. He was finally back home. Theon had been wondering about it for all this time. But there was no one there to greet him. No grand welcoming party or feast or anything. His uncle Urrigon's great warship, _the Silence_ , wasn't in the ports either. He found himself entering his father's chambers. He fondly began to remember how grand they looked as he was a child. His lord father was just standing there, looking over the fire. "Father" he said. "My son has returned to me" Balon said rather coldly. "Nine years it's been. They took a frightened boy away from me. What have they given back?" Balon said. "A man. Your son. Your blood and your heir" Theon said proudly, holding his chin up high as well.

"We'll see about that. Stark had you longer than I did"  
"Lord Stark is gone"  
"And how do you feel about that?" Balon said, almost as if he were taunting him. "What's done is done. I've brought you a proposal from Ro - "

"Who gave you those pretty clothes? Did Ned Stark do you the honor of making you his daughter?" Balon said in the same taunting manner. "If my clothes offend you I'll change them" Theon said.

"Damn right you will. That bauble around your neck, did you pay the iron price for it or the gold?" Balon inquired. Theon felt strange, almost scared as Balon was approaching him. "I asked you a question. Did you take it off a corpse you made or buy it to match your fine clothes? Iron or gold?" Balon inquired, more and more aggressively. 

He hadn't changed. Why would he think that Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands would change? The iron islands themselves looked even more dreary since their failed rebellion which was led by Lord Balon, their belovedly stupid Kraken King. Who had gotten his equally stupid brothers Rodrik and Maron killed. Their stupidly wet Iron King who had let his own son be taken away as if he didn't want me anymore. The one who brought and caused all the grief that his mother bears, last he heard. 

"Has the north stilled your tongue, boy? Iron or go - "

“The gold prize naturally. Do I look as if I’m stupid enough to run around and kill people while living directly under Lord Stark’s nose? Or to steal from the dead while riding around with Little Lord Robb? I would have lost my head or my hand immediately. That’s called surviving in enemy territory.”

Suddenly, his father had eyed him. He couldn't tell whether it was resentment, disgust or pride. No, he means to have me cower. But I remember. I know where I came from and I know who I am. Iron and salt flow through my veins. He didn't even mind the people who had come into the room. 

"Watch what you say to me boy. This is not the greenlands that you have come to know and love!" Balon Greyjoy said in a lowered voice. 

It was that voice he had often used to scare him when he was still a boy. It doesn't sound so scary. He sounds like a stupid pathetic little man. It had barely even occurred to Theon that he and his father were now of a matching height. His father, whom he once believed to be gigantic as a lad, was nothing but a stupidly shriveled-up old man. 

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell between the dreary sky and shit-stained rocks. I lived in the north for ten years, Father, of course it's a part of me. You shiver in snows that could never bother me, I ride a horse better than anyone here ever could, and I can learn to captain a ship soon enough. You might think the north weak, but I learned its strength and made it a part of me. I'm iron and winter and I don't care what price I pay, gold or iron, to get what's mine. I know I'll be getting it."

It was then that he took note of the people who had come in. His uncles, Aeron and Victarion. They had remained relatively unchanged as she saw them. Victarion's black hair was now flecked with grey, and Aeron had seaweed woven into his hair and beard. He had all but forgotten that Aeron had found the Drowned God sometime after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Mayhaps some things have changed. He paid no mind to the girl and her wicked smile which had quickly soured. 

Balon Greyjoy's face was now pallid and angry, Angrier than before; angrier than he had ever seen. He barely noticed it but quickly caught his father's fist, and then launched his own. Balon Greyjoy never looked more weak than now. 

He quickly rose up from the floor, glowering at him. "Leave my halls and never return!"

"I'll leave the proposal in case you'd like to look at it, But I know you won't, so I'll just tell you what it is. Add on the ironborn to the northern army, raid the westerlands and you will be allowed to take what is yours. If he hadn't been promised to some Frey girl, I would have proposed that Robb take Asha as a wife.

If you don't want me, fine. I'll be back. You'll die from your own stupidity soon enough and soon enough, you'll only be remembered by history as my father and how I rose above you."

Theon then took his leave. _I'm sorry, Robb. Looks like the only ironborn you'll be needing is me._


	131. Not In There!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't do this to your siblings!!

She loved the feel of him. His strong broad shoulders. And she loved his strong musky scent he seemed to emit. Robb Stark is undeniably the perfect specimen of man and the perfect boyfriend. Undeniably manly and the perfect gentlemen. Yet, I don't want him doing something so gentle to me right now ... 

"Um, Robb?"

"Yeah, Marg?"

"You wanna take this somewhere else? Maybe your room?"

"Yes, yes I d - No, wait. I can't. I put down Rickon for his nap there. His room needed to be repainted."

I can't believe that I'm going to say this ... "There happens to be a room much closer to us ..." she said eyeing it. 

"Marg, you can't mean ..."

"I want you, Robb. And I want you now!" she said, cupping his face for emphasis. 

"... Alright then!" he said, lifting her up from her hips. Margaery squealed in delight. 

Robb then opened the door and all but pushed her off of him and onto the bed. There were plenty of stuffed animals around and linen pillows. He then dragged her close to him. _He's already hard as I am wet ..._

He then took off his shirt, his body on full display. _Hello, sailor!_ With equal swiftness, he took off her jeans along with her panties. I see someone's eager. He then took off his own. _Wow, hello and come to mama!_

She thought that he would take more time kissing her, but he was suddenly and swiftly inside of her. She then quickly took off her shirt. Time for the girls to come out anyway!

"Oh, dear God!"

"Like what you see, huh?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Now, c'mon, lover! Give it to me!!"

He then came closer to the bed and went in deeper. Quickly fondling her breasts before coming back to kiss her. His hands gently gripping her hips as he went deeper. 

"Yeah! That's it! Faster! Harder! Deep, deep in there, Robb!!"

"Margaery! O-Oh, dear sweet Gods!"

Both of them were moaning and groaning like animals and heat. Both coming undone. 

"O-o-ohh, Robb! I-i'm close! I'm so close!"

"Really? I got about a couple of seconds then  I'm done!"

Suddenly, they heard the door. 

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL!!"

"OH, SHIT! SANSA!!" they both yelled out. 

"Uh, Hi, Marg ..."

"Hey Sans ..."

"Robb ..."

"How you doin' lil' sis?"

"Uh, when your done ... could you please take me to the mall? I'm gonna have to burn that mattress. And maybe the pillows too."

"You know we might just take them for ourselves. No need to waste perfectly good things!" Margaery said with a smile to lighten the mood. 

"OK. I'm just going to bleach my brain with Drano."

Robb then looked at her a bit miffed. "I do hope that was worth it!"

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you? And yes, it was!"


	132. Lonely No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon wakes up in the middle of the night with the irrational fear that his wife and children have left him. Everyone else has.

" ...Ugh, uhm, no. No. Nononononono ... NOOO!!" the young wolf lord cried out from his sleep

"Rickon? What's wrong?" his wife said, as she came to his side. 

"Nothing. I-It's nothing. Ju-Jus-Just go to s-sleep."

"You've been waking up like this for quite some time, my good husband. Tell me, what's wrong. Let me help you."

He couldn't help but stare at her. He liked the honesty she had always given him. She was as blunt as a practice blade. 

It had been so long since he had anyone. Father was gone. Mother. Robb. Bran had left to protect him. Jon, Sansa and Arya had stayed as long as they could. Sansa stayed longest, where Jon and Arya had found someone to love them. The Dragon Queen and the Bull. But Sansa had to leave too. Her heart still spoke of summer and sweetness, no matter how hard the winter snows had made her pretty skin like fresh steel. She found someone too. 

He found himself thinking of his family. Robb's son would be Lord of Winterfell one day, but he still remained in Winterfell to watch and look after him. And he had his own children to look after. His eldest sons Edwyd and Branston. His middle son Richard, the apple of his mother's eye. His girls, Margaret and Osha. If Richard had caught his mother's eye, Little Osha had caught his heart as much as her mother did. 

It was a true blessing that he had met his wife. Lyanna and he had met when her family had come to pledge their service to House Stark once again. Many of the northern lords had objected to this as the Mormont's had low standing. But they had become the new Lords of Queenscrown and Defenders of the Gift since Jon and Sansa had acted as his Regents. 

They had trained every day, challenging one another. Their strikes at each other often led to them giggling to their hearts content. She made training fun. Fun that was nearly lost to him. Eventually, as they got older, their childish fancies had all but faded. She had looked beautiful when they married beneath the heart tree of Winterfell. 

But everyone leaves. Winterfell will be empty once again. 

"I-I ju-ju-j-just can't help but think of the days from before. W-Wh-When everyone was ... gone. An-And I fear that, you and the children will be too. I'd have no one. I-I ca-can't be a lone wolf anymore, Lya," he said somberly. 

"That's a bit stupid," Lyanna said as blunt as ever. 

"We are not going anywhere. We chose to spend the rest of our lives together. I chose to have your children. I chose to be here with you, always and forever. Our children won't ever be leaving you. They are Starks, and Mormonts. It is here they will stand, no matter what winter will bring. I promise you."

He felt his heart race a bit as she mindless traced the small scars on his chest. As she fell asleep, he found himself staring at her. Tracing the small scars around her waist and belly; where the children had been once. Looking at her, like the wonder his children were when they were still babes. Wondering if they would disappear if he kept his eyes off of them. It was stupid, he knew it, but he did not want her out of her sight. 

She then wrapped her arm around him, and he found himself gently caressing her hand. I won't ever let go.


	133. Surprise! (Jon/Arianne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Arianne surprised Jon and one time he surprised her

_One_

She loves the way he kisses her. His hands gently cupping her face. His lips so soft and yielding. The kisses at times are almost too chaste to her liking.

She's always been one for excitement and surprises. He almost yelps in surprise when she slips her tongue into his mouth. 

"Wh-Wha-What was ..."

"What? Didn't you like it?" she said innocently. 

"Very much so ..." he said deviously with a grin. 

Suddenly, both of their tongues were fighting each other. _Very interesting ..._

 

_Two_

His touch had gotten better than before. It was no longer fearful and quivering. It was more firm and assertive. Almost possessive. 

Yet, he would never move past her hips. Touch me, Jon. You know you want to. 

As their mouths and tongue seem to be in battle as always, she reaches out to his hands. 

Wow! They're quite soft! Never mind that now. 

She then gently places them on to her breasts. 

"Uh, um, Arianne, I, uh ..." 

"You can go on and touch them. Squeeze them if you like?" she said suggestively. Instead, he begins to knead them like a baker would dough. 

_Oooh. Not so rough. ... Okay, maybe a little rough._

 

_Three_

Ahhh. The Tunnel of Love. One of the most cheesiest and yet somehow romantic rides ever. 

Underneath his somewhat solemn face, Jon was surprisingly romantic. 

It was starting to get boring as they came closer to the end. She definitely didn't want to disappoint Jon, he went to all this trouble. But then, she got the most devilish idea ...

"You like the ride?"

"I do like it. It's sweet. But I have an idea that could make the ride even better ..."

Suddenly, she cupped him through his pants. 

"Arianne! Wh-What the hell are you doing?!"

"Just relax! I know you have quite the romantic bone within you!" 

Swiftly and deftly, her hands had gotten him out through his fly. It never failed to impress just how large it was, and would get. 

With small quick strokes, she had him under her heel. He was desperately trying not to groan. 

C'mon, babe. A little bit more ...

* * *

"You have the most epic cum face. I can't believe they actually got it on this picture!"

"I can't believe that I managed to zip up my pants so fast!"

 

_Four_

This was always quite nice. The cuddling. She never really expected it to be. 

He's surprisingly warm too. His hands are always by her hips as they lie on their sides. 

Suddenly, she feels his hands leaning a bit closer to her ass. I wonder just what is he thinking? 

"Jon? Is there something you want?" she asks him. 

"No. No, not really." he says almost immediately. He must really love staring at my assets. 

"You're almost like a millionaire right now. Holding on to your ... "assets" and not wanting to let go. Aren't you?" she teases. 

"Ari, that's no -"

"Maybe you'd like to hold your assets? Give it more than a light touch?" 

"Arianne, I, uh, ..."

"Go on, Jon. Spank it. Squeeze it. I know you want to. You know you want to. We both wan -" 

Suddenly, she feels and hears a loud smack. _Oooh. that was good!_

"Do it again!"

* * *

How on earth do I forget that he could be pretty damn rough? A good kind of rough though! 

Still, if it meant rubbing some aloe vera on my ass, the price was worth it.

 

_Five_

My god, this movie is pretty damn boring! Yet, Jon does love a good sci-fi/horror movie. It's a bit cheesy and hard to follow though. What the hell was that alien doing with that rabbit? 

As she looks at him, she could tell he's barely following it himself. 

"Jonny, you bored of this movie already or something?"

"Sort of. I have a hard enough time understanding what the alien was doing with the rabbit, but now I can't understand why they need the Prime Minister."

"Do you want to do something a little more ... entertaining?" she suggests seductively as she gently trails her hands around his thigh. 

"You ... are filthy!"

"You knew that about me already, Jonny!"

Suddenly, they are pawing at each other. Desperate to remove each others clothes. So lean with hard corded muscles. _Me likey!_

Just as she got him out of his pants, Jon had gotten her out of hers and slowly took off her bra. 

"Jon! You've already seen the girls before. Why take your time?"

"Because, it's still a surprise seeing them each time!"

Fuck implants! These are the best damn things ever! 

He then begins to push her onto her belly. It's the best way we do it. ... He does have a vested interest in my assets as much as the girls ...

Just as he was readying himself to push himself inside of her, she then stretched out her asshole. She then pushes back, with a low growl of satisfaction, to fill herself. It feels familiar if not a tad bit strange. But she was willing to try anything once. He feels bigger in here! 

She then pulled out a little to push him further in. There's some trouble finding the right rhythm but they quickly find it. _It's agonizingly slow but oh, so good._

His hands cup her heavy breasts as they sway beneath her, and his breath comes in short hitches as he buries himself in her slick cleft again and again. Soon his nails bite constellations of half-moons into her shoulders. 

"O-O-Oooh! That's it, Jonny! In my asshole! Faster! Harder! Deeper!!

 

_And One_

She had wanted in in the Water Gardens for quite some time. Wanting to see that lean rippled body of his wet. Glistening with tiny droplets. 

It's almost scandalous that she's wearing a scantily clad golden-coloured bikini. She had gotten the idea from a really old sci-fi movie they watched a long time ago. Yet, Jon can't stop staring. The girls look bigger in this teeny-weenie thing. 

Barely an hour in the pools, they are already back in her room. Kissing each other with an unbridled passion like before. Breathing hard at each other's necks. It's intoxicating. 

He quickly slips her out of her bikini. Kissing every exposed part of her. Suddenly, he grabs at her thighs and separates her legs apart. 

But nothing's happened yet. He's still kissing down from my tits to my belly. Not that it's not good but ...

"Jonny! C'mon! I want it! Ge - "

She feels a sudden shock and jerk in her body. _What's he doing with those lips? His tongue?! It. It's so good! How come we never tried this before?! Why didn't I ever think of it?_

She breathes even more heavier than she though possible. 

"D-Do-Don't stop! D-D-Do-Don't stop, Jon!!"

Unbearable. That's the only way to describe the sensation moving throughout her body. 

* * *

"So, how was that?"

"That was almost cruel what you did to me. Before."

"You liked it. I know you did. You never made those kind of sounds before!"

"Damnit, I loved it. I love you, Jonny!"

"And I love you too, Ari!" he said, snuggling her closer.


	134. Caress (Tommen/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery gives Tommen a preview to what married life will be like

The feast had gone on for quite some time. She looked at her husband and he was quite bored of it as well. All the lords and ladies prattling on about such nonsense. Many of which to offer praise, or obviously trying to curry favour with them. Now, they were just minding their own business and drinking some fine Arbor gold. 

"How do you find the feast, dear husband?" she asked him. Tommen jumped in shock from his bored daze. 

"Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking" he said politely. 

"You're quite bored, aren't you?" she asked, prodding. 

"Oh, no. No. Don't be silly!" he said, quickly dismissing it. _He clearly thinks he'll hurt my feelings._

"It's gone one for quite some time, hasn't it?" she said cheekily. 

"They prattle on like cattle!" he exclaimed. She giggled at that truth. 

She then eyed the people. Many of them were quite drunk or absorbed in some kind of conversation. It was then she wondered about her husband. He's quite young, younger than her. Likely to be quite virile in their chambers. Though, he likely didn't have any or much experience. But taking a look at his innocent face, that was quite unlikely. 

"Do you think if we sneak off, that they would notice?"

"Mother's on her fifth glass of wine right now. I'd say we're quite alright," he said in a sotto voice. She giggled again, and took him by the hand. 

"Come. There's something I must show you." she said as she guided him down the hall. 

"What is it you want to show me?" he said with his guileless gaze. 

"There's something I must ask you, my king. Have you ever acted improperly with a woman?" she asked, wanting to gauge his reaction. 

"I, I can't say that I have. There was this serving girl who had kissed me. I ... uh ... put my tongue in her mouth. She ... didn't seem to like it so much." he said quite uncomfortably. 

"Truly? Nothing else?"

"No"

"Well, my king. There are plenty of women who like that sort of thing. I know I certainly would. But I had wanted to know if you ever bedded a woman. Or know what goes on in the bedchamber."

"Well, I know what we're ... supposed to do. And ... where to put it," he said quite stiffly. Some common knowledge will do nicely. 

"Why do you ask?" he said, now curious. 

"I just wanted to know. And I wanted to show you, just how are married life will begin," she said coquettishly. She then loosened her dress some, so that her breasts would be bare. He stood still and stared hard with his mouth agape. 

"Go on, Your Grace. This will be yours for this night and all nights to come. Go on. You can touch them," she said with a smile. 

Tommen's hands then began to move, albeit shaking. She then gently grabbed him by his wrists and placed them on her chest. He then began to gently touch them. His soft supple fingers tracing around her nipple. She couldn't help but let out a small moan. 

"A-Are you alright?"

 _Sweet. Far too sweet._ "Y-Yes. I'm quite alright. That simply felt good. It will feel good once we are in our chambers. In fact, you will be feeling as good as I felt," she said, lowering herself on her knees. She then began to undo his breeches. 

"M-Margaery! Wh-What are you doing?!"

"I'm showing you, just how good you will feel," she said as she undid them and grabbed his cock as it sprang forth. Already hard ...

She then began to pump him. The king relished the sensation of his hard cock on her warm, smooth, unblemished flesh. He was trying so hard not to moan, so that no one would hear him, or see them. to further unnerve him, she began to use both her hands. She had to admit that the length of his cock was quite long. It was rather unnecessary to use both her hands, but any king would enjoy having more than his cock stroked. 

She began to feel a twinge in it. He was reaching his climax and soon. He can't make a mess on my chest. At least, not here and now anyways. 

Quickly, she pumped him with large and quick strokes. As he was about to release himself, she quickly grabbed onto it. 

"Not now, love. Save some for later," she said eyeing him. She then took note that his face had grimaced. It was quite amazing that he willed himself not to release on her face or chest. Although, he looked more tired. 

"I promise you, husband. You'll have that and more once we get to our bedchambers!" she said almost giddily. 

_And I'll have you at my mercy._


	135. My Love, My Darling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was looking for answers on love in all of the wrong places

It was strange being here to guard over this man. It was hard to believe that this small slimy man had started this war. Caused all of this strife, and somehow smiling in his cell. What on earth does he have to smile for? Lady Sansa decreed his life forfeit. He was worth nothing and could offer nothing. He had heard that he came from nothing and made something for himself. It's almost fitting. Starting from nothing and going back to nothing. No one will remember anything to do with House Baelish. 

"How is it that a nice ironborn lad like you have come to serve the Starks?" the man had said. 

"Fuck off, you worm!"

"What could they give you? What had they promised you? I'm certain the young lord Rickon hadn't promised you any land or spoils. Considering that Lord Theon Greyjoy had done to his home."

"It's not like you can promise me anything. And Lady Sansa and Lord Snow had promised me nothing. I serve Theon's sister, Lady Asha," he said, trying to hide his blush. He knew what she felt for him. Nothing. He was no true warrior but he could sail a boat like any other man. He can't offer anything that she doesn't have or want. 

"Ahh. A man in love. You know, you and I may not be so different. Lord ... Botley now, was it? Lord of Lordsport?" he said with a tone that unnerved him. 

"Keep talking and you will be Lord Baelish, master of clouts to the face!" 

"I can see it in your eyes. You would do anything for your lady love. Be by her side no matter what. Fight any battles for her that need to be fought. But she won't give you the time of day. She looks at you like a sibling at best, doesn't she?"

No, Asha doesn't think of me as a sibling. She barely thinks of me for all I know. 

"You'd do anything for her. You'd kill for a sliver of her love. Wear her favors in battle, knowing that they grant you valor. Be her hero. Take away anything that may cause her harm. Everything I did, and had ever done, it was all for her. All for Catelyn." he said, but now his tone was sadder. More melancholy. 

There's nothing that I wouldn't do for Asha. I would do what she'd command of me. But I would never do anything like this in her name, or for her. Whatever Lord Littlefinger felt for the now deceased Lady Catelyn of Houses Stark and Tully, that was not love. Or it's what he believed to be love. It was a poison. And he brought all of that to the realm. Something so undeniably selfish. 

"Like I said, Lord Baelish. No one will know or remember you. You'll be deader than dead. A nightmare that's been erased from this world." he said. 

It was then that he changed shifts with Gevin. He made his way to the Great Hall and was given a nice hearty meal. It was then he noticed that the Dragon Queen's northern knight was sitting by his left. 

"I take it you had just finished guarding Lord LIttlefinger then?" he said gruffly. It was rather strange seeing him in the pale armour and cloak of the Queensguard. Especially from what he had heard about him being involved in slave trade. How could she have let him back into her graces so easily?

"Yes. He claims that he had done all of this. Created a war for the sake of Lady Catelyn. All for the love he bears for her." 

"I've met Lady Catelyn a few times when I came to visit from Bear Island. She was certainly a beautiful woman. Although, I'm not sure if she was worth causing two wars for. First Robert's Rebellion, then the War of the Five Kings. Madness. Madness and stupidity."

"I know that I would do anything for Asha. But that? I can't even comprehend it!" he said with a heavy sigh. 

"You love her. Don't you? Your ... iron princess?"

"Iron Queen to be exact. With all of my heart. Since we were children. She thought and still thinks that I'm in love with who she used to be but it's not. I always knew that she would be fierce captain and a great warrior. All I knew is that I'd want to be by her side until the bitter end."

"We can always choose the ones we love, but we cannot force them to love us back. No matter how much we may want it. But still, to be acknowledged should be enough, for men in our position. As a warrior, commander, or what ever they need us to be. Duty has never been a fickle mistress. And great or small, we shall do our duties to them. You would do anything for her as I would my queen, would you not, Lord Tristifer?"

He then looked to Asha who looked beautiful even in northern furs as she danced with the young lord Rickon, managing a smile out of him. 

"Yes. Yes, I would"


	136. Tides (Dany/Aurane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is as beautiful as her fabled brother

She keeps him around too much for anyone's liking. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah mention that he is much like Daario Naharis. That he is likely to betray her. That the relations between their houses have been fickle as of late. 

This Lord of the Waters, as he calls himself, had brought her a small amount of ships to expand her already large fleet. The Iron Captain had already pledged his iron fleet to her, and offered himself as well. The kraken and the dragon united. Though it is likely that the seahorse and the dragon will be united. 

Lord Aurane Waters is handsome and thin, with silver-gold hair and grey-green eyes. He has a cleft in his chin and has a sparse beard covering his jaw. Ser Barristan claimed that he almost has the face of her famed brother Rhaegar. If he is as beautiful as Rhaegar was, it's no wonder why women would so easily drop their smallclothes and why the realm fell into ruin. 

Almost immediately upon looking at him, did she want him. The Iron Captain's hand in marriage would give her a more valuable alliance. But it is not him that she wants. She wants the bravado and easy smile of the Lord of the Waters. She does not know what he wants other than her bed. He likely wants a title, but they always end up in the bedchambers. At the end of it, they are both sweaty and their silver-gold hair is a giant messy tangle. She enjoys the feel of his hands on her thighs and hips too much. 

It is too much that she hears from Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan and even Missandei to let him go. But she cannot. And they may be right. But she doesn't see anything of Daario in him. She is not sure just what she sees in him. Just that he is warm, and she has been cold for far too long. Mayhaps it is because of his Valyrian descent that he seems to understand. She needs his warmth. And it feels good to be warm. 


	137. Falsehoods (Gendry/Jeyne P.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could be her, because I know you want her

He is so undeniably handsome. Tall and handsome like the knights that she and Sansa would always talk about. Broad shouldered with a messy mop of black hair. Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. He won the hearts of many with his acts of bravery and chivalry. 

Rickon, Jon and Sansa had invited him to stay at Winterfell because of those acts. And because he had won their hearts over with his tales of him and their sister Arya who he had traversed the riverlands with. He and Jon had become quite close to the point that they walked and talked like brothers. Rickon enjoyed jumping on top of his shoulders. He and Sansa would talk in a more formal and respectful tone, but she could see something there. Mayhaps Sansa's heart had not become so frozen. 

She always found herself dreaming of him. And it wasn't so hard, considering that he had been assigned to guard her chambers. She still had nightmares about him; the infamous Bastard of Bolton, her beloved husband. There are days where she would wake up, screaming and crying, believing him to be alive still. But he's not. Jon, the new King in the North, had personally slain him and had him head to his own dogs. 

The days when she screams, Gendry comes bursting through the door. He gently pats her on the shoulder and brings her back. Back to the new Winterfell, where the Starks reign once again, and where he is. _He seems so close, yet so far._ She yearns for his touch. Wanting to feel him closer, smell the soot from his body. She feels much warmer every time he is near. 

But why would he want her? Am I not pretty enough for you, good Ser? He had heard that he had come to Winterfell in hopes of rescuing Arya Stark. The person that she was supposed to be. And the person she finds herself strangely jealous of. Does he love her? Want her for a bride? This may be the one time she actually wishes that she were Arya Stark, if it meant having her knightly husband like she once dreamed. 

She tries to talk to him but it is always rather short. He's quite dutiful and stern. Mayhaps he has been spending too much time with Jon? Or he may not be a simple and stupid boy. He carries himself more like a man than a boy of six-and-ten namedays. The conversations they do have are mostly of the comings and goings of Winterfell, and the new appointments that are being made. 

It is suddenly and rather crudely made plan, but a plan nonetheless. He always comes to comfort me whenever I scream. She waits, staring at the ceiling, wondering just how his lips would feel and taste. After a while, she screams; not too loud to draw the attention of the other guardsmen yet not soft that he couldn't hear her. 

Gendry comes bursting in, asking her what was wrong. His hand almost instinctively coming to her hair. His blue eyes are so beautiful. Had they always been so blue? 

It is then that she grabs him by his jaw and miraculously pulls him close to her lips. His lips are quite soft. Softer then she could have imagined. But it quickly comes to an end as he pulls himself off of her.

"What are you doing?" he asks her incredulously. It's not like he said that he hated the kiss. He must have enjoyed it, at least a little bit. 

"I, uh, um, just wanted to .... do that ... for quite some time," she said sheepishly. She tries to lean in for another kiss but he stops her. 

"Jeyne. We shouldn't be doing this." 

"But we could. There's nothing wrong with it. Am I not pretty enough for you?" she asks. She knows that her nose bears a scar from the frostbite she suffered. 

It is then that she finds herself thinking of Arya Stark again. He must have been in love with her. Why else would he come here? 

"I could be someone else if you want me to. I could be her, if you wish it." she almost croons into his ear. 

"What?"

"I had to be her when they still held Winterfell, but I wouldn't mind playing the mummery again. Would it be easier if I turn over and you could pretend it was her?" 

Suddenly, his face, his kind understanding face turns into a grimace. 

"I should go," he says rather abruptly, and turns to leave. 

Gods damn you, Arya Stark. Why do I want to be you? You would have what most girls would want. 


	138. On Golden Wings (Jaime/Lysa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little Arryns are strong and beautiful, hair of blond or red, eyes of emerald or sapphire. Who could think they came from frail Jon Arryn's seed?

He often found himself with her. It was unusual, yet no one seemed to know about it. Mayhaps that is what made it quite exciting. Fucking the Hand's wife behind his back. 

She was nowhere near as frigid that Cersei was getting in their lovemaking. Lysa was quite active. She made more noise than a wanton whore. They couldn't have that though, less anyone get suspicious. So she often bit into his shoulder to stop it. The way she felt underneath him. How her hips shamelessly grinded onto his own. The way her breasts crashed into his chest. How her legs raised high and hit his back. It was intoxicating. 

It also made him wonder if Old Lord Arryn knew or cared. But he was often attending to the duties that the fat oaf we call king couldn't be bothered with. Did he not care that his children were his?

Almost all of the court was surrounded by his bastards. The golden ones he left onto Cersei: Joffrey and the young twin cubs Myrcella and Tommen. Then there were the ones he had upon Lady Lysa; Rhea, Gylbert and Bryndon, and Jason and Celia. It was only the eldest children that actually belonged to Jon Arrym. It was surprising that he managed to sire a child on her; especially it was on their wedding day. Yet all of them had enough similar features to be passed off as the perfect mix of Houses Arryn and Lannister. 

Lord Robin and Lady Minisa had sparkling blue eyes armed with strawberry-blond hair. Rhea's hair was a beautiful dark shade of red that it looked like flowing crimson silk. Gylbert and Bryndon's hair were stunning golden waves. It was the youngest who truly seemed like the perfect mix of Lannister and Tully. Their hair was of a similar shade to their elder siblings but it was their eyes that gave them away: bright emerald green eyes. Jon Arryn paid little mind to "his" children, and had tried to be a father to them. But duty took him away. And we both know that duty was a cruel mistress. 

He often found himself watching over the Arryns; even the older ones. Young Robin is a promising young warrior; skilled with a sword, lance, axe, any weapon he could grab. He likely inherited his skill from his famed uncle Brynden Blackfish. Lady Minisa is growing to be a beautifully vivacious young woman, but had little patience performing the duties of a lay; preferring to run roughshod. Rhea was a rather shy but good-natured young girl; more skilled at being a lady than her elder sister. Gylbert and Bryndon loved to play as knights and do hold promise in being ones in the future. Jason and Celia were devious little things, running around with mischievous smiles plastered on their faces. 

It often made him think on his life. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved Cersei, yet he found himself caring for Lysa. They didn't talk all that much but there was a fondness there. She was quite a good mother, doting on each and every one of them. Showing no preference to any one of them. Could this have been the life I could have had? Had I not made such a foolhardy decision, would this have been it? 

If someone had the balls to kill the Mad King, none of this might've happened. Lord Arryn's heirs would be fine and happily married off. He and Lysa might've had a grand big family with little ladies, lords and knights. They could be better than us, better than Father and his siblings. Brandon Stark would not have foolishly charged in demanding justice from the Mad King. Cersei trying to court Prince Rhaegar to be his queen, or mistress if she'd be content to that. The she-wolf married off to Robert Baratheon, or flee from the sight from him. ... I would never be the Kingslayer. 

But none of that had happened nor will ever happen. It was announced that Lysa would be leaving with Robert, Minisa and Rhea. Lord Arryn wanted the youngest children beside him at the very least. And surprisingly enough, she had allowed it. Neither one of them had asked for this. Would she and I have been happy with one another? But this was his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Minisa; 283 AC  
> Rhea; 285  
> Gylbert and Bryndon; 288  
> Jason and Celia; 292


	139. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all words are wind

A castle, lands and a lordship. He never expected it. No one had expected it. Many had half expected his more lordling brother Edric to be Lord. Not once did he expect himself to be Lord of Storm's End. He didn't even know that he was descended from one of the great houses. 

I guess I was right. My father was just a drunken sot. Lord Stannis seemed to be a different sort. He was the one who had allowed him to claim the Baratheon name and titles. Many have complimented that he's practically like him, since the Onion Knight almost never leaves his side. He knows more about this lordly shite than me, and he was just as common as I thought I was. 

But it feels strange looking at and putting on a prancing stag on his jerkin. It didn't feel like him. Stags are graceful and dignified. Kings of the forest, some commons call them. I was never king of anything. Though I'm born from one. 

He almost insists to Ser Davos that he should change the Baratheon sigil. It was a crowned stag before just being a prancing stag on yellow, and once House Durrandon before the Targaryens came to Westeros. He says no but that he could have a standard of his own personal use. 

That's when he comes up with a black bull rampant on yellow. That felt more like him; more natural. But he also needed words to come with it. The words of House Baratheon are Ours Is The Fury. His own should be just as meaningful. Lord Stannis had mentioned not to imagine being a Lord as a game like other lords do. _Great or small, we must do our duty,_ he said. It's then that he remembers what a little lady once said to him, and he asks Ser Davos what it means. 

"What it means, is all men must die. Which is what many had done. It's often said before what the Braavosi say; _valar dohaeris_. That means that all men must serve. Makes it almost sound like your lord uncle," he said. 

It's almost fearful as Ours Is The Fury, and just as good. Mine own sigil and words. 

_Valar Dohaeris._


	140. Nets (Wex/Meera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way she moves as she twirls that pronged spear of hers makes her look almost dainty. Like she's having a dance with it.

She would do well in the Iron Islands. A warrior through and through much like Lady Asha. Except that she may be prettier than her. He'd never call her a frog-eater, swamp-slut, mud-bitch or a bog-devil. Even if he could, he wouldn't. 

Lady Meera Reed is truly one of kind. He half suspects that she is ironborn. She can fight with a set of knives and a spear. She can fight as good as any man and probably best one truth be told. He had seen her take down one of the guardsmen with just that net of hers. The way she moves as she twirls that pronged spear of hers makes her look almost dainty. Like she's having a dance with it. 

If she were a captain, she'd likely rule them all and him with an iron fist. And he would welcome it. 

* * *

It's hard to believe that he's ironborn. If there was one thing that her mother and father had taught her; it was to never trust an ironborn. And a Frey. 

But he doesn't seem like most ironborn. Well, not like Theon Greyjoy anyways. He does smile from time to time like him, like there was a jape that only he knew. Except that she knows that he would tell her the jape if he could. 

Wex Pyke is his name. The Bastard of Lordsport. He's not so loud as many others, but only because he cannot be loud. Yet, there is comfort in his silence. 

His eyes follow her. Follow, not wander. it almost makes him like a soldier waiting for an order. That being said, he is quite an impressive warrior. He holds his dirks and daggers with tight grip. It almost makes it look as if the weapons came straight out of him. And he throws them with an accuracy that's deathly scary. And impressive. 

Mayhaps not all ironborn are so bad. Mayhaps


	141. Sow (Asha/Tris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha drinks moon tea. It doesn't work. She's having a baby.

She can't believe it. She just can't believe it. A babe. I'm gong to have a babe. The Drowned God has fucked me! Well, Tris did anyway. Or tried to. Oh god. He wasn't even that good. He was a slow as a salmon jumping into a stream. I should have taken him up on his offer to spill on my chest or teats at the very least. By the Gods, this is my fucking fault. I'm fucking stupid!

If she was being completely honest, the babe should have been Qarl's. He's undeniably strong and handsome. Not to say that Tris isn't handsome. He certainly grew up to be very handsome from the pimply lad that she remembered. The babe will surely be as handsome as he is. Hopefully, he doesn't become as pimply as Tris. Or as pimply as I was. 

All of a sudden, a voice sounding like her mother's courses through her head: _What if the babe is a girl?_ Oh, Drowned God! 

The child would be a Pyke. The Greyjoy line is not completely secure. But she has enough ties to the mainlands and the new King and Queen to get it legitimized. Being noble on both sides is certainly an advantage. He would surely inherit the Salt Throne. 

He would need a strong name. A good name. She almost feels tempted to name him Theon. But Theon had went on to sail to parts unknown to find himself, whatever that meant. And she knew that her brother wanted to do anything with the Greyjoy name. He had gone on to call himself Theon Greyiron now. She almost wants to name him after the man who likely would and should have been his father; Qarl. But there are too many of them on the Islands anyways. And it'd be too much of an insult to Tris. Rodrik would be a good nice name. Strong too. For Uncle Rodrik. Tris would like that. 

It is then she finds herself thinking of him. Truly thinking of Tris. He wouldn't want her. After all his pathetic pining and her urging, Tris had found himself a proper woman. An Estermont if she had heard right. But she just needs him to acknowledge the child. He wouldn't threaten any inheritance from Lordsport. But what if Tris decides to set aside his wife to be with her. He's got a good head on his shoulders when he uses it proper. 

When she summons him for an audience, she finds herself surprised. Tris has truly come into his own as Lord of Lordsport. Standing tall and proud with elaborate black armor with gold filigree and helm with a decorated sunburst beneath his arm. For some strange stupid reason, she almost wants him to say that he'll set aside his greenlander bride. The fuck is wrong with me? 

But instead, he sighs a heavy sigh. "I am sorry to have given you this burden. my Queen. But let it be known that I am your most loyal and leal bannerman. Your child will never go without wanting. And may come to visit Lordsport when he can. I know he'll grow into a strong warrior as his forefathers and mother are."

His speech sounds so rehearsed and refined. Had he truly grown so much in their time in the North? "I thank you, Lord Tristifer," the words spew out of her mouth. 

He then comes closer to her; noticing the light swelling around her belly. "I ... I will ... try to be as much of a father as I can. Every boy ... or girl .... needs and deserves one," he says with such a strained voice. 

Mayhaps the stupid love-stricken fool is still in there somewhere. But the rest of him is a man now. 

She often called her ax and dirk her husband and her suckling babe. Now I will have one of them, but not the other. 


	142. Gallant (Sansa & Garlan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he didn't love his Leonette so much and if he were not wed, he would've married the sad Stark girl. She wished she was part of the family.

If he didn't love his Leonette so much and if he were not wed, he would've married the sad Stark girl. She wished she was part of the family. And he knew that Margaery would welcome her with open arms and treat her like a sister. He knew that she always wanted one. But she's best suited for his elder brother. 

Willas is a good man with a better head on his shoulders than Father to say the least. Frankly, he could be a bit dull but he would do right by her. Smart as a maester, but dull as one at times and would never think to hurt anyone. Heck, Leonette would be just as suited for his brother as well. But he could not imagine a life without her. 

He still remembered just how he had met her. Leonette had come to serve his family and had been sent from Cider Hall likely with the intent on seducing Willas. And she had thought that I was my brother when she found me sitting from exhaustion. We had laughed and talked for so long that we didn't notice that the sun was beginning to set. Within a matter of moons, they had wed in the sept of Highgarden, as Father had thrown a grand feast and tourney. He had surprisingly won it and crowned Leonette his Queen of Love and Beauty. 

But looking at her made him think of what the Lannisters had done to her family. It was a crime in the highest order. To use that act of butchery to end the war and call it justice to boot. What is just in betraying guest right or honourable in slaughtering soldiers by the thousands? The Lannisters should have golden serpents on their surcoats rather than golden lions. He almost feels tempted to punch Lord Tywin's gilded face in, along with King Joffrey's. Especially as he laughed himself silly over hearing how they desecrated Robb Stark's body. 

It was quite bothersome that they had all but abandoned the young lady. Margaery had done so with a heavy heart. Small tears were glistening in her eyes as she wiped them away. She earnestly loved the Stark girl's company. She would have looked lovely and beautiful in Tyrell colours.

To have his sister be his Queen and wife. It's unnatural. The sheer thought of her whelping his babes is sickening. What would he do then? Depose of her? Kill her and laugh at her corpse? It almost makes him want to smack his father's fat head in for wanting this for Margaery. Anything to increase House Tyrell's prestige and put a crown on her head. 

When his grandmother tells him of her plans, he almost wants to tell Margaery. She would never be his bride. But she says that the plan would work better if Margaery does not know of it. And that he play a part in it as well. He almost feels like smiling, but he doesn't. It's unbecoming of him. 

As he places the black amethyst in the wine cup, he couldn't help but feel a sense of glee and relief. Knowing that he won't be clawing his way at Margaery. Until he begins to claw at his throat as it and his face turn purple. His veins bearing an almost green colour. His nose trickling blood as he violently vomits. He turns her away from the sight. No one should have to see that. 

Suddenly, he realizes that this could be the perfect chance. Amidst all the chaos, he could try to get the Stark girl out of here. She may never come to see King's Landing or the Lannister's ever again. But before he can do anything, Queen Cersei is suddenly screaming for the arrest of Lord Tyrion, who happened to be holding King Joffrey's cup. And Sansa Stark is nowhere to be seen. Where could she have gone? 

And now Lord Tyrion is to have a trial for the murder of the "great" king Joffrey. He wants to tell them that he had done it. It was a gallant act to protect his sister, he tells himself. But it would have been a more gallant act to have spirited Lady Sansa when they had the chance. Mayhaps I am not as gallant as every thinks I am.


	143. Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon is Lyanna and Rhaegar's last choice of a babysitter, but they're desperate and Arthur should be over in an hour. How much trouble can they get into really?

This was stupid. He's just a little baby. Possibly the most quiet and the sweetest baby known to man. Lyanna has nothing to worry about. I could totally do this myself. 

**_Remember Bran. Arthur should be coming over in a hour. I just put down Jon for his nap, so he shouldn't be too much trouble. If he does wake up just give him his bottle but remember to heat it up just a tiny bit. Just chill, watch the game or something. And don't do anything stupid._ **

Easy! So far, Jonny hadn't woken up! I could probably raise the volume up and he wouldn't wake up! The Winterfell Wolves were kicking the Storm Griffin's asses!! 

"C'mon, c'mon make the shot, baby. Make the shot!!" And in she goes! "YESSS!!!!!"

Suddenly, a giant wailing noise erupts the room. Oh, crap! I don't think I ever heard Jonny cry before!! Damn, iron lungs much?!

"He-Hey, Jonny. No no no, don't cry. Don't cry. Uncle Brandon's here!" 

Yet, somehow, that made him cry even more! Crap! Where did Lya put the milk? Just gotta feed the little tyke! 

He starts to swing him a bit in his arms to calm him down. 

"Shhh, shhh, don't cry. Don't cry. Please don't cry!" Great, now _**I** _ feel like crying! 

Just gotta hear it up a bit. And Arthur should be coming in about twenty minutes or so. Maybe I should call him? Or maybe Ned? If not Arthur, they usually end up calling on Ned and Cat, or Ben or Ash. 

**_Don't worrry, Lya. I can totally take care of Jonny. It won't be so bad. I mean, he mostly sleeps anyway. Just how bad could it be?_ **

Me and my big mouth!! 

OK. Milks warmed up. Just put some on my arm to make sure it's not too hot. Can't have my nephew burn his little tongue. ... Although if it meant that he'd quiet down a bit ... 

There we go! See? All better huh, Jonny! 

And within less than a second, he spits and cries. Oh, man! What now? 

"Hey, Jonny! How about we watch a little bit of hockey, huh? The Wolves are totally kicking butt!" 

The TV seems to calm him down a bit. He does seem to like it. I think he likes it as much as I do. The moment that Cassel fails to make the pass, Jonny must have felt my frustration. 

Nononononononono, not again! 

"It's just one failed pass, Jonny boy. We're still winning!"

Oh, man! Where are his toys? Maybe he's teething or something! 

... 

* * *

"Hey, Arthur!" 

"Hi, Brandon. How are you?"

"I'm okay. Me and Jonny are having the time of our lives!"

"Alright good. I'll take over from here now."

"OK. Good."

As soon as he comes in, he sees everything a mess. Jon's toys are scattered about. The kitchen looks like a mess. And something smells. 

But Jon seems to be fine. Sleeping soundly. 

"Brandon. What happened here?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I might've gotten in a tiny scrape. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna take a little nap!"

All of a sudden, Brandon just collapsed. 

Oh, great. I've gotta take care of two babies. 


	144. Luminary (Gendry/Allyria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had only come to tell her of the news. How they served Lord Beric and how valiantly he had fought. He half-expected her to cry and grieve for him. He did not expect to find himself in her bed.
> 
> AU Gendry goes with Edric to return Beric's body to Blackhaven and bring the news of his death to his betrothed; Edric's lovely aunt Allyria

The heat is quite unbearable. But he was doing it for a noble cause.

He, Anguy and Lord Ned had gone by to Blackhaven less than four moons ago. Lord Beric deserved to be buried in his home among his ancestors. His cousin Ryam had solemnly thanked them for bringing his body back to his castle. 

Now would come the hardest part. Lord Beric had been betrothed to Lord Ned's aunt Allyria for nearly two years. It's the right thing to do, to tell her. 

As they reached the castle, he couldn't help but admire it. Starfall was made with beautifully pale white stone. Though, if he were honest, he'd like to see the famed sword of the Daynes; Dawn. According to legend, it had been made from a fallen star and the castle had been made on top of the site where it had crashed. 

Lady Allyria had greeted them quite graciously when they had come. She looked lovely and had dark hair, grey-violet eyes - the kind of purplish grey of a storm about to rumble and release lightning - and a rather long face. If he did not know any better, the woman looked like a strange mix of Lord Ned and ... Arya. Long, dark brown hair, pale skin, strong cheekbones, relatively clear complexion, and round eyes in an oval face. She looked to be two or maybe three years older than him at the very least. 

She had cried profusely when they had told her of Lord Beric's death. They all told her that he was good man and had fought and died nobly. It almost felt rehearsed the way he had said it but true nonetheless. It felt rather strange that she had cried on his shoulder. It rarely happened and he didn't know what to do with a crying maiden. He awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. 

Lord Ned and Lady Allyria had courteously invited them to stay for the time being. The servants had commented on her beauty, saying that she is just as beautiful as her late sister, the Lady Ashara Dayne. He had heard small tales of Lady Ashara in Flea Bottom; how men would swear their allegiance to Starfall just to be near her. That men would easily fall in love with her and women wanted to be her. 

I might be tempted to do that myself. Lady Allyria could easily haunt anyone in their dreams. She already has that power over me. Those eyes of hers are quite enchanting; looking like a pair of falling lilies. 

As they decided to go hunting, Lady Allyria had decided to join them as well. He never heard of ladies joining on a hunt; it was a rarity if they did. But Lord Ned reminds him that they are in Dorne, where everyone is a little more free in the Seven Kingdoms. 

While his horseriding had gotten better, she was far better than anyone he'd seen. Better than Harwin and just as skilled as Arya. She's almost like a beautiful centaur, the way her hair wildly moves with the wind. The way she took down pheasants with her bow atop of her horse was astounding. 

"Beat that archer!" she said rather smugly to Anguy, sticking out her tongue a bit. 

"She needs a good spanking, that girl!" Anguy said irritably. I certainly agree. She does have a nice bum. 

"Don't think about it, Anguy! She was Lord Beric's betrothed and my aunt!" Lord Ned had said. Although, Anguy probably didn't mean it like that. There's no doubt that he prides himself in his archery skills. 

He found himself spending more time with Lady Allyria; most often telling her of Lord Beric and the Brotherhood. Lord Ned had known him longer, so he talked more of him than Gendry. She had complimented on how Beric thought him worthy enough to be a knight. Even though he didn't really feel worthy of it. He hadn't done any great deeds to boast of or proved his skill in battle. 

"Beric must have realized your vast potential. You have a strong look to you. You have the makings of a true knight, Ser Gendry," she said with a coquettish smile.

Most ladies he had seen and met made him feel a bit uneasy. But not Lady Allyria. Her smile is warm and enticing. He found himself japing and laughing with her. Talking became easier with her. He thought that she and Lord Ned would be quite uppity, especially now that Lord Ned was back in his home. I've thought wrong. 

She doesn't seem like most ladies. She talks with all of the servants, asking of their comings and goings and their individual lives. She treated and acted as if she were one with them. 

Ned tells him that he had faint memories of her and Starfall. Mostly how she had taken care of him after his mother and father had died. That she had been almost like a mother to him. He looked more happier to be back home. 

It happens rather suddenly. He can barely recall what had happened. They had been talking about their lives and Lord Beric. How brave and noble he had been, and what he meant to them both. He had only come to tell her of the news. How they served Lord Beric and how valiantly he had fought. He half-expected her to cry again and grieve. He did not expect to find himself in her bed. 

Their teeth were clashing. Her lips all over each other's necks and bodies. Hands roaming about every where; wanting to touch every piece of unexplored skin. How they matched each other in rhythm. Beads of sweat falling. Their frantic breathing and panting all over. 

As he looks at the sheets, he sees that there's not a drop of blood on it. But then he remembers what Ned told him. Everyone is freer in Dorne; especially the women. He's almost relieved for a moment. Til he remembers that he bedded her: Lady Allyria of Starfall, Lord Beric Dondarrion's betrothed and Lord Ned's aunt. 

Just as he taps on her shoulder to wake her, she already has beaten him. She looks at him with that same coquettish smile, gently whispering "Good Morning" into his ear. We ought to marry, he thinks. But I'm little more than a knight. I can't really give her anything. Allyria then puts her dainty fingers around his shoulder, almost reading his mind somehow. 

"We have both lost much in this war. And we gave each other what we needed, my good ser. I have no such regrets." she says almost forlornly. 

I barely gave much thought as to what I had lost. I had nothing before this war began. I found friends amongst a band of misfits. And i lost them. I've seen people die; good people. Mayhaps she is right. She might not have been in the war, but it took much from her too. 

The warmth doesn't seem to bother him anymore.


	145. Of a Feather (Robin & Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arryns and Hardyngs; different names but all the same really.

Harry isn't that bad of a person. Harry is his heir; he's not a bad sort. He reminds him of how King Robert Baratheon was. Smiling is somewhat easy for Harry Hardyng. He can make jokes and laugh easily. But there was a bit more of an honesty within him.

When he had found out that Uncle Petyr had been responsible for the death of his mother, Harry had been right beside him. He felt more like an Arryn the moment Petyr Baelish's trademark smirk dropped and he opened the Moon Door. Harry gripped his shoulder tightly. And he watched, ... watched, wanting to see the mountaintops claim his head.

Robin had always wanted a older brother or sister. Someone that would lookout for him in a way that his mother would never be able to do. Harry was something of an older brother to him. In getting to know him, Harry proved himself worthy to be his cousin and heir. He still remembers what his mother told him about Petyr Baelish, and in a way he almost reminded him of Petyr—a boy from a lesser house, from a family who cared little or nothing about him, who instead had been sent to be raised with those of better standings than he had dreamed of. Soon other topics came up between them, they spoke of their childhoods soon enough. Harry spoke of being the poorer relation to his cousin and growing up with his Waynwood cousins: Morton and his son Roland, Donnel and Wallace.

But he had to admit that he was jealous of him. Any woman would be glad to marry Harry. He is straight as a lance, clean-limbed, and hard with muscle. And he supposedly looks like his lord father when he was Harry's age. He wasn't always around, growing up in the Red Keep but often tried to have time for him, patting him on the head afterwards. That thought itself was comforting; that even though he was away, the image of his father was here to watch over him. He helped arrange and even attended the wedding of Harry and Lady Myranda Royce. He even has a new sigil; a mockingbird. That pin had fallen off Baelish and had been found at the edge of the Moon Door.

He would have to marry soon. As much as he likes Harry, he finds himself jesting to him that he can't let him have the Vale. A betrothal and marriage is underway to Lady Rosamund Bracken; Lord Jonos' youngest daughter. She is rather pretty with her wispy blonde hair and kind brown eyes. When they do marry, Harry is there to congratulate him. And he promised that he'd always watch over him. 

I like the sound of that. The Arryns and the Hardyngs watching over each other. 


	146. And Now We Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We were meant to be together. You and me. No one else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hundreds of feet. It's fascinating what happens to bodies when they hit the rocks from such a height. The impact breaks them right apart. Like eggs dropped on the floor. Sometimes pieces remain intact. You'll find the head sitting on its own. Every hair in place. Blue eyes staring at nothing

The stupid slut! She dare to steal Petyr from me? 

She could still see it. How her lips eagerly snacked upon his; like a wanton slut. Soo much like her insipid mother!

"Don't! Please, you're scaring me!!" she cried out. 

"My father, my husband, my sister -  _they all stood between us, and now they're all dead!_ That's _what happens to people who stand between Petyr and me!_ ""

Mayhaps you're not like Cat as I thought you were. Or just as. Cat would likely be scared as she is now. Crying her stupid eyes out!

"Look down! Look down, look down, look down ..."

"Lysa! What is the meaning of this?" a voice rang out. _His_ voice. 

"What is the trouble here?"

Her. She is. "Her!! She's the trouble! She kissed you! I was going to have her marry Robin! No gratitude, no decency!! You are not hers to kiss. _Not hers!!_ I was teaching her a lesson, that was all!" 

He gently stroked his chin, "I'm certain she understands now. Do you understand, Alayne?" he asked her. What could she understand? But she shakily nodded her head. 

"I don't want her here! Why did you bring her here to the Vale, Petyr? She doesn't belong here, this is not her place!"

"We'll send her away then. Back to King's Landing, mayhaps." He then came closer to her. "Now, let her up. Let her away from the door."

"Just like before. Just like before! "NO! You can't want her. You _can't!_ She's just a stupid empty-headed girl. She doesn't love you the way that I have! I've always loved you. I've proven it haven't I? I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too but they had him murdered with moon tea, and tansy, and wormwood, with a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal. IF the gods permitted it, Robin could have been your son instead of Jon's, like we wanted. It wasn't me, I never _knew_ , I only drank what Father gave me ..."

"That's in the past and done, Lysa. Lord Hoster is dead, his old maester along with him. You've been at the wine again, haven't you? You ought not to talk so much. We wouldn't want Alayne to know more than she should, do we? Or Marillion?"

For a moment, he sounded like her father chastising her. She ignored the singer's distracting songs and the girl's whimpering. 

"Cat never gave you anything and wouldn't give you anything. I was the one who got you your first post. I asked Jon to bring you to court so we could be close to one another. You promised me that you wouldn't forget that."

"Nor have I. We're together, just as you always wanted, just as we always planned. Just let go of Sansa's hair ..."

You want her. You want her as you wanted Cat, don't you, Petyr? Why?

"I won't! I saw you kissing her in the snow! She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood but she never _meant_ it, she never wanted you. I-I have _lied_ for you! I have _killed_ for you!! Why did you love her best? It was me, it was always meeee!"

"I know, my love." he said as he came closer. "And I am here. All you need to do is take my hand, come on." he said, holding it out for me. For me. "There's no cause for all these tears"

"Tears, tears, tears. No need for tears... but that's not what you said in King's Landing. You told me to put the tears in Jon's wine, and I did. For Robin, and for us! And I wrote Catelyn and told her the Lannisters had killed my lord husband, just as you said. That was so clever... you were always clever, I told Father that, I said Petyr's so clever, he'll rise high, he will, he will, and he's sweet and gentle and I have his little baby in my belly... Why did you kiss her? Why? We're together now, we're together after so long, so very long, why would you want to kiss _herrrrrr_?"

He then let out a small sigh. "Lysa, after all the storms we've suffered, you should trust me better. I swear on my life, that I will never leave your side again. For as long as we shall both live, I swear to all the Gods." 

You've always kept your promises, Petyr. You've never been fickle. "Truly? Oh, _truly_?" 

"Truly. Now let the girl go, and come give me a kiss."

With barely a second thought, she let her go and threw herself into his arms. The tears did not stop. And he let her sob into his chest then put his arms around her and kissed her lightly. The taste of him. The mint. It always felt good. 

"Oh, my wife. My sweet, silly, jealous wife." he said with a small chuckle. "I promise you, I have only loved one woman my entire life. Only one."

She felt herself smiling tremulously. "Only one? Oh, Petyr, do you swear it? Only one?"

"Only Cat."

There was no love in his voice. It was deeper, darker and dangerous. She felt her heart shatter. She felt his hands up against her. 

Cat already had anything and everything she could ask for. She is not taking you away from me, Petyr. 

With that, she mustered up some strength to claw her fingers into the nape of his neck. She stumbled backward with Petyr following her fall. 

Now her heart was truly broken. Along with her face and the rest of her body. Broken apart. It felt next to nothing. She then saw him; Petyr. 

Grey-green eyes staring back at her. His legs completely crushed from the fall. 

For the longest time, there was no sound but the wind. Then his fingers tried to inch their way closer to her. His lips pursed together. His eyes bulging from pain, mostlike. 

"Ugh, uhhh, L-L-L-Ly-Ly-Lysa ..."

You swore on your life that you would never leave my side again Petyr. You swore to all the Gods, for as long as we shall both live. ... You've never been fickle with your promises, ... not ... once. You've always .... kept ... your .... promises ....


	147. Plaything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lysa finds herself betrothed to the heir of the Eyrie and Petyr is surprisingly upset. Not because he loves her, but because he'll lose his "backup"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Lysa and I have always been ... close since childhood.

The both of them seem to be clucking about like hens the way they talk about their betrothed. Lysa especially. His heart had sunk when he had heard that Cat was to be married off to Brandon Stark, heir of Winterfell. Though nothing had been official, all she could talk about was him. They hadn't even met then. 

When he came, that's all she talked about. Yet, I saw them together. Catelyn had done most of the talking, and he seemed most disinterested in her. He did seem interested in a few of the serving maids. Like Lila; staring at her buxom chest. If I had Cat as my wife, I would never even bother to look at anyone else. 

And now here he is in all of his glory. Tall and broad, a strong jaw like an anvil. His brown hair was not lustrous but neatly kept, and his grey eyes gleamed with mischievousness. The way he walks into the room, it's almost like he owns it. He knows that all eyes are on him. But how could they not be? Lord Hoster had just announced that he would wed his fair and noble first-born daughter. 

_I heard that he fucked over 100 women at the Tourney at Harrenhal. I tried to tell you Cat, but you won't listen. He's not good for you. No one would ever be good enough for you._

There was rumour that he had even disgraced Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall; Princess Elia Martell's chief lady-in-waiting. But there was also rumour that she had been bedded by his younger brother, Edmund, Edwyn, whatever his name is. He had even heard that his youngest brother, Benjicot, he thinks, had tried and failed to court Lord Whent's fair daughter. He is close to my age at least! The Starks are not so honourable after all. 

Yet, she doesn't listen. She doesn't listen unless it's good things about Brandon Stark of Winterfell. How far he had progressed in the tourney until he had been unhorsed by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. And how he nearly dominated in the melee until Robert Baratheon had proven himself victorious. He plays the part well. The dashing knight, the conquering hero, but he's little more than a roguish sellsword who holds honour as he does his coin. He's little more than a mummer. 

_It's bad enough when Catelyn got like that, now Lysa's the same._

Lord Hoster Tully had announced that in addition to his eldest daughter's hand to Brandon Stark of Winterfell, his youngest daughter's hand was now promised to the heir of the Vale; Ser Elbert Arryn. He seemed to have the likes of Brandon Stark. His blonde hair windswept and in neat curls. His blue eyes gleaming with life. Clean-limbed with a dimpled chin and straight as a lance. A small smirk adorning his lips, showing off his dimples. All the same really. His eyes don't seem to wonder but mayhaps he's more tamed than Brandon. He can't keep his eyes on Cat for even one second. 

She gushes over the fact that she's to be married to the heir of the Eyrie and on just how handsome he is. How courteous. How gallant. How she'd be his Queen of Love and Beauty one day. It's almost as sickening. 

Catelyn seemed to stop talking about Brandon for a bit. Until both argued on who would be Queen of Love and Beauty first. That's when he spewed the words out. 

"Lord Stark! Lord Arryn. I challenge you both, for the hands of Ladies Catelyn and Lysa Tully!"

The room suddenly goes quiet. Lord Hoster looks furioius. Ser Brynden has an amused look to him. Edmure is confused. Catelyn and Lysa seem to be furious. 

_Folly or not, they will not take them away. They will not take them away from me._

_I'll win. I'll surely win. It will be the greatest song and story ever told. How the young Petyr Baelish shamed and disgraced the heirs of the North and the Vale. And wed the sweet Lady Catelyn of House Tully._

He was taken away from the dream when Lysa had stormed into the room. Catelyn trailed right behind her. 

"Petyr! What has gotten into you?!"

"They don't deserve you. Either one of you. Ser Elbert. Ser Brandon, whatever they call themselves. You deserve someone better. Someone who isn't looking for a pair of legs to lift up their skirts whenever they want it!"

Catelyn then lowered her gaze a bit. _Ahh. Mayhaps she does know about his ... tastes and ... proclivities._

"Elbert is not like that. Lord Jon raised him, and he thinks of him as a father. He knows of honour and duty. He wouldn't hurt me. He's good friends with Lord Brandon's brother, and Lord Baratheon too! They're good honourable men!"

"Right. Robert Baratheon, who sired a bastard daughter on a Gulltown woman. And the brother who had his way with Lady Ashara Dayne at Harrenhal? Or was it Lord Brandon?"

Right then, he felt a hot slap to his face. He had expected Cat to do that. He did insult her betrothed. He did not expect Lysa to hit him. But he surely did not expect them both to hit him. Catelyn's eyes were glistening with tears, and Lysa's beaming with anger. 

"Go to the Seven Hells, Petyr!"

* * *

The training yard seemed wide and empty. It should be enough with only a helm, breastplate and mail. 

Brandon and Elbert eyed one another; their eyes jesting. They then took off some strips of their armour. A russet-haired young man with a mailed fist on his tunic seemed to serve as Brandon's squire. Edmure ... he's now Elbert's squire. Hath all the Tully's betrayed me? I am defending your daughters! Catelyn does not deserve this! She does not deserve this!

It is then he sees them. Both of them look quite beautiful; Catelyn especially. 

"Cat. Grant me your favor, and I will surely find the strength to defeat Brandon. And Ser Elbert. Please?"

But she just eyes him, and shakes her head. He then turns to Lysa. Her hair is neatly adorned with sky-blue ribbons. Arryn colours already?

"Lysa? Lysa, please? Won't you lend me your strength?" 

She breathes out a heavy sigh. Lysa then urges Cat to come with her. Both of them going to their betrotheds; whispering things in their ears. And ... granting them their favours. For once, Lord Brandon looks dutiful. Ser Elbert seems to smile and say some very convincing words at Lysa. 

Both don't seem rather eager to do this. They're not dreading it, but look rather bored. 

"Could you just do us all a favour and yield, Lord Littlefinger?" Elbert jests. How did he hear of that name?? Suddenly, he turns to look at Edmure, who lowers his head. Stupid little boy!!

"Please do! It would save us all a lot of time!" Lord Brandon shouts with a grin. I hate that smile of his!!

"Why? Are you scared of a finger lord?"

"IF that's how small your prick is, I should fear _for_ you, _Lord Littlefinger_!!" Brandon howls out. 

It is then he raises his sword to strike. Lord Brandon is quick to parry then strike back. He felt his rump fall on the ground. He then laughed. His laugh is worse than his smile. 

"Are your lot this terrible, Elbie?"

"I'd like to think we're better than this. But ... we are talking about a ... finger lord!"

He then lunged at the insipid falcon. But rather than use his sword, he simply pushed him into the dirt. 

"Oh, for God's sake, lad! Just yield! This is embarrassing!" 

_I'm not giving it my all. I'll show them just what I can do!_

And with that, he managed to find the strength to hack at them as many times as he could. I should have asked for someone to help me fight them. No, I will shame them as they have shamed me! He keeps hearing the sound of clanging swords and his romp falling on the ground til they come close to the Tumblestone. 

"Could we please stop this? This is rather disdainful!" Elbert called out. Brandon is still smiling. Neither one of them is as tired as I am. 

"Just yield already!"

"No! I will not yield!"

"Suit yourself then!" Brandon said with a glinting grin. 

It is then that Elbert steps out of the way, and it is just him and the wolf. 

He then struck at him, but nothing. 

"C'mon now, Baelish! Where's that quick wit of yours now?"

He kept coming at him but he barely moved. Nothing close to a scratch. Brandon then grabs him by the neck. 

"You shouldn't be fighting for women who don't love you!"

"Heed your own words, Stark!"

He then whacks all around his shield arm until he grabs him by the neck and angrily headbutts him. He feels his shield slipping off, and everything feels dizzy. He can hear Ser Elbert's voice, telling Brandon to stop. Mayhaps the falcon does have honour. Just as Brandon is about to take another swing, he hears _their_ voices, telling him to stop. 

Quickly, he grabs some wet dirt and throws it at his face. Just one quick strike. But then, he backhand slashes at his chest. 

Blood. Blood pouring out like a fountain. A small pool of red forms around the water.

Red. All I ever saw was red. 

" .... Lys.... Cat...."


	148. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis wins the Battle of the Blackwater and Joffrey is killed in the fighting. When he reaches Maegor's Holdfast, Tommen is there to ask his uncle if he is going to kill him.

He had done it. He had taken King's Landing. King's Landing is now mine. The Iron Throne is mine. The Tyrells and Tywin Lannister had come too late to save them.

Both Cersei Lannister and her bastard Joffrey were now in chains and confined in the Black Cells. The Princess Myrcella had been sent to Dorne, and Prince Doran writes that his son Trystane has found himself in love with her. There would be no point. If Dorne wants her, Dorne can have her. She's of little use. It's the boy that worries me. Not Joffrey, he will surely die. The youngest, Tommen. 

He had been found in Maegor's Holdfast; having been brought back by some knights in service of Cersei. He barely looked frightened. He wasn't quaking in his boots like his brother, who desperately tried to put on a brave front and shouting that he was the rightful king. 

_"Are you going to kill me, King Stannis?"_

That had taken him by surprise. How upfront he had been. His emerald-green eyes did glisten with tears threatening to be released though. For a brief moment, he looked like the Kingslayer. 

At the moment, he had been staying with Shireen. She has few friends and it'd be better for them both. They could use the company. 

The lords already had come simpering at his feet. The Tyrells and all their bannerman who had been conspired with his brother were now at his mercy. Mace Tyrell would likely be kissing them. 

It had already been decided that Joffrey and Cersei would be sentenced to death. Young Tommen had alluded him. He could more than easily send him to the Faith. He could eventually become High Septon and speak to the people of their beloved king. Or rally them all against me. Shireen had told me that he likes to read though not as much as she does. He could be sent to the Citadel to become a Maester. But he could be sent to the Lannister's if possible, or any other house that proved themselves traitors. 

"Just kill the boy, my king!"

"He has traitor's blood just like his accursed mother and brother!"

"Put his head on a spike!" 

Ser Axell, Lord Monford, Lord Eldon, Lord Bryce, Ser Bryen, Lord Elwood, Lord Brus; lickspittles the whole lot of them! "Out! All of you!"

Quickly they had left. The only one who remained was Ser, rather Lord Davos Seaworth now. 

"What do you make of this, Lord Davos?"

"It's a tricky situation, from what you've made mention of. If he joins the Citadel, they could have half a mind to send him to Casterly Rock or Lannisport, or any other house in the Westerlands. Or be sent to any other house, tricky. He could be a septon and rise to prominence and use his sway against you. But there are some other options to consider, Your Grace. 

The Night's Watch is in dire need of men. You could send young Tommen along with the recruits. He'd forfeit any claim he has to the Iron Throne. The Night's Watch owes allegiance to no family."

"And the other one?"

"You could marry the boy to your daughter. He may not have Baratheon blood, but he's had the name for all this time. And the Lannisters, Cersei Lannister anyways, had denied the union of the Baratheons and the Lannisters. And the boy does have Lannister blood. I know you and the Lannisters have little love for one another, but you'll need them. Lord Tyrion has already sworn his allegiance to you, as long as he is the rightful Lord of the Rock. And until he's wed, he'd be a ward to you. Earn a knighthood in due time, and prove his worth. He seems to be a good lad."

The idea does have it's merit. I will need the Lannisters.

The Starks and the Tullys will come soon enough to swear their allegiance. The Tyrells have all but done so. The Lannisters and the Westerlands will be needed. Yet Robert had suffered the blight of them.

"You could be merciful to him at the very least, and remembered for that. Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin do need to die, no one doubts that. That's already a messy start to your reign; killing the previous king. Or you could help yourself, in sparing a boy who did not do a thing to you."

"I'll consider it."

* * *

The Kingsguard had taken a toll. Meryn Trant, Boros Blout and Mandon Moore had perished. It was a mistake to make the Hound a kingsguard, having fled the city soon after. Ser Arys Oakheart was still in Dorne, protecting young Myrcella, he could easily stay. Ser Balon Swann as well. 

The Kingslayer presents a problem. But should he be found, he will join the Night's Watch. Whatever crimes he committed, he's still a knight and the Watch does need men who know how to fight. 

Rolland Storm, the Bastard of Nightsong, will be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Richard Horpe the Slayer, Timon the Scrapesword, Andrew Estermont and Loras Tyrell would soon join the order as well. I wouldn't have the Knight of Flowers on it but he's a noted tourney champion and a skilled knight. And it will help to have the Tyrell's on my side. 

As he comes to her chambers, he hears them both laughing. As he opens the door, he sees Shireen playing a game with Tommen and Ser Davos' son Devan. The boys had been holding wooden swords 

"Father!"

"Your Grace"

Shireen and Devan seemed to go quiet, both looking at Tommen. The boy is still bowing. Does he want me to kill him here and now?

"Tommen. From this day forward, you will be my squire along with Devan and Gilbert. In time, you will be knighted and eventually wed. To my daughter, the Princess Shireen."

He still remained bowed. "Yes, my king"

Mayhaps this one will actually be a golden lion instead of a golden snake.


	149. The Lion's Den (Theon/Genna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After successfully capturing Casterly Rock, Theon finds himself holding a number of Lannister hostages one of which is Tywin's own sister Genna Frey. Genna who has never liked her Frey husband turns her eyes to her handsome Grejoy captor desiring him to take her as a Salt Wife.

This seems almost too easy. The hardest part was convincing his father and sister and all the rest to ally with the Starks. 

The ships had completely surrounded the Rock. They were so focused on holding them off, that they didn't notice that they had had infiltrated it, having disguising themselves as Lannister soldiers. Within minutes, the Rock had fallen and belonged to the Greyjoys. Robb had been attacking each nearby stronghold; they'll surely fall now. Where's your mighty army, Tywin?

Much of the crew had begun to enjoy themselves. Although, Tris had managed to find love with one of the golden-haired shits. Even though she was a rather pretty golden haired shit. Cerenna, he thinks her name is. And Baelor Blacktyde had taken her sister Myrielle as a wife as well. Worthy enough spoils either way. 

Plenty of hostages that would give them a good enough ransom. The rather elderly Lucion Lannister and his brood. The young pages Robert Brax and Tion Frey. The squires Philip Prester, Harrold Clifton and Tygett Marbrand. Lord Lefford's daughter and heir Leonella. Lady Dorna and her toddling daughter Janei. The lioness and her brood had been interesting enough. 

Lady Genna Lannister was quite the beauty, even though she has gotten rather fat, she has a square figure, with a broad and smooth face. He remembered that half of her children are out fighting Robb. Her eldest Red Walder seemed to taken from the Marbrands as far as he knew. Other than his green eyes, he might've mistaken him for Lord Edmure, or a very young Blackfish. His wife Mariya Darry was quite a beauty as well, save for a wisp of grey in her otherwise lustrous brown hair. Their young son Tywin (Oh for fuck's sake) glared at them defiantly with his green eyes flecked with gold. Lyonel seemed rather odd, especially for a Frey. He didn't seem to look like them or seem to take any traits from his mother or her family. He looked rather plain, truth be told. No stringy brown hair, weak chin or thin face. 

But his thoughts were quickly back to Lady Genna. She is strong as she is beautiful. Why was she ever wasted on a Frey?? Although, his life was forfeit almost immediately. Emmon Frey was one of the first to die upon their sack of the Rock. Her tits were still round and firm in spite of her age. She must have been like a golden-haired goddess when younger. Mayhaps it would have been like fucking Cersei Lannister. 

She had been eyeing me as of late. Though, I'm not sure it's cause I took her home. Some stupid sense of defiance. Or she's a lion in heat. I can't imagine that her Frey husband satisfied her in any way. Mayhaps she found some other stoat to father her children. Black Walder maybe? I wouldn't put it past him. From what I know and heard, he's fucked some of his cousins and one of his father's wives. 

All of a sudden, someone knocked on the doors of his new chambers. Now who could that be? Well, speak of the devil, or lion. Genna Lannister in all of her glory. 

"Lord Theon. I was hoping we may talk," she said, strong and authoritative. He found himself just staring with his mouth agape. She was wearing a loose linen cloak. The nipples of her large breasts daring to peak out. 

"Of course, my lady. What matters do we need to discuss?"

"The release of my family and subjects."

"I'm afraid not. We've taken you and your lot fair and square. The Rock is ours by right of conquest. What is it that you could possibly give us that would warrant the release of your family?"

"Me. And my life."

Her life? "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't be coy with me, boy. You've been staring at my teats the moment you came in here. It's the one and only thing that you can count from a man. And I must confess, you are a rather impressive young man. My husband Emmon, was never impressive, not once in all of our years of marriage. Gods, I once that he put a worm inside of me, until I realized it was him." she said with a chuckle. 

"Why would you say that to the father of your children? Pathetic as he seemed, he looked like good man."

"If he really were the father of all my children, the whole lot of them would have been weasels spun with golden fur. Would you call your father Balon Greyjoy a good man, in spite of everything? Or the Kingsguard the deadliest knights alive? My nephew Jaime is the only thing deadly about them. The rest could all go hang themselves."

She does have the right of it. Most of them looked like upjumped thugs. 

"And besides, my life is worth far more than the rest of them. The sister of the mighty Tywin Lannister. And frankly, I've been wasted here. A salt wife to the mighty kraken of House Greyjoy. Surely, a much better prize than a couple of mere westermen hostages, wouldn't you say?" she said with a sultry look. 

_Gods, I want to fuck her golden cunny. Still, this could be a ploy for all I know._

Before he knew it, she left her shift loose and it quickly fell off. Her teats hung gloriously loose, and her bodice bare. 

"I've always wondered, just how hard a kraken can be?" she said as she grabbed on Theon's crotch. "Have you ever been with a woman before?"

"I've lain with plenty of women, I'll have you know!"

"Whores, you mean. I mean a proper woman. Won't who doesn't politely moan and groan at you because you've paid for it. A woman who knows how to be touched. A woman who knows what she likes, so that you can make her shiver. And a woman, who knows how to do it properly!"

With swiftness and grace like a lion, she wretches his cock out free from his britches. "You are quite large, I'll give you that, Prince Theon!" 

She then kisses him, swift and hard. Desperate even. Her hands reach for his bum, lightly squeezing. "Very impressive, indeed!" 

Everything is so hazy and succulent. Her rosy lips. Her ripe teats pressing against his chest. His fingers gently laying into her golden cunt. Suddenly, she pushes him on the bed. With those eyes, and her grin, she almost looks like an actual lion ready to pounce on her prey. And pounce she does. Within the instant, she's on his cock. His hands are on  her hips, as she moves them rapidly. His hands quickly go to her teats and lightly squeezes them, then watches as they bounce freely. 

"Oooh!! Mayhaps you do know something, Greyjoy!!"

Her hips moving even faster and more desperate. He then gave her still-shapely arse a large, loud slap. With that, she yelped excitedly. He then came close to kiss and mouth her teats, causing her to moan loudly. She's much more wanton  than a common whore. Or she really hasn't had a good fuck!

 _I can't take it anymore! Her hips keep moving faster and faster._ With a very loud groan, he finds himself squirting a great amount of his seed in her. 

"Was that it? I expected a bit more. But like I told you, you haven't been with a proper woman, Greyjoy!" she said coyly. 

"So you mean it then? You want to be my salt wife and in exchange, the others will be free?"

"Ehh, piss on them if you want. Fuck Tywin, fuck my mad niece Cersei, fuck her stupid twat of a son. Fuck King's Landing. Come now, Greyoy. You still haven't made me roar!" she said, aiming her arse out on him. 

_She's giving me more work than the whores in Wintertown! Ohh, fuck it. Or rather her._

_This is going to be a long night. With many long nights to follow ..._


	150. Failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have shown nothing but my shame, but they will hear me roar.

It was strange looking at them both. They were ghosts; living ghosts. Ghosts of the king he wanted to protect and serve, and the one that he should have. It was strange seeing the two of them together. A Targaryen and a Baratheon together. Even if the dragon wore the skin of a wolf. 

Jon Snow, the ever-famed Bastard of Winterfell. Or was, the Bastard of Winterfell. Now he is Jon Targaryen, second-born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It was easy to see him as Ned Stark's bastard get at first, but there were things in his face that reminded him so much of Rhaegar. From his nose and dark eyes, to the iron tones in his voice. Rhaegar in a northern skin to be honest. He was more Rhaegar's child than his elder brother, who miraculously turned up alive, even though Aegon certainly looked a bit more like him. 

Even the girl seemed to remind him of Rhaegar. Daenerys Stormborn, with her many, many titles. Good Gods, does she like to hear them aloud. But she does have a pull to her like Rhaegar. The way she could easily inspire loyalty in her men. Even in sellswords! Not even Tywin Lannister could do that. She was even a skilled enough commander to be able to lead the men. That made it hard to think of her as the Mad King's daughter. If there were a better world, she would easily have been Rhaegar's daughter.

The other boy had perturbed him a bit. Robert Baratheon's eldest bastard son, Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. He never paid his beloved King Robert much attention. The boy was a true leader. All he ever saw was Robert gaining more stone with each passing year with every grand feast and tourney he had thrown. The boy was hard with muscle that it poked out of his armour. Though there was a bit of what he had seen in Stannis and Renly as well. His eyes were dark and hard as Stannis' yet, there was a soft charm to him that made him seem rather appealing to many. Many people flocked to him like pigeons. 

It was only fitting that he had been given his father's warhammer. He swung that thing with ease and effectiveness. He could squish a man's head like a melon. The way he swung it made him think of Robert's most famed feat; how he smashed his warhammer into Rhaegar's chest. 

He half-thought that the other Targaryen's would want to kill Gendry for that. Yet, they didn't. Daenerys did not seek vengeance for her father; accepting that he was the Mad King for good reason. Aegon had seethed quietly for a bit, until making his peace and claiming that they cannot blame each other for the sins of their fathers. It was Jon who accepted Gendry with the most ease. None of them knew their fathers, or even want to know. 

But something about the boy seemed to irritate him. He's either been spending too much time with Brienne, or I never hung around a true Baratheon. Something about him seemed like a Lannister almost. Ever since I came back from the war, every person has seemed to be a miserable pain in my arse. 

Every one of them, I failed them somehow. I failed Rhaegar. I failed Princess Elia. I failed Queen Rhaella. But I will not fail them. I have been the Kingslayer for far too long. My stories have only just begun. All of them will hear me roar. Let them all know the tales of Goldenhand the Just.


	151. Here We Roar (Dacey/Jaime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've always felt more alive whenever I am fighting or fucking

He couldn't stop shaking. It had been a real and proper fight. He hadn't had one in ages. Though he was a Kingslayer twice. Balon Greyjoy, the Kraken King, as he called himself, had fallen to his blade. The iroborn shits had fallen quickly. Now, his eldest son is now the new Lord of the Iron Isles, bending his knee to his beloved king Robert. And from what else he had heard, the youngest would be sent to ward with frozen Ned Stark. 

It was almost laughable, even though it made sense. Keeping a kraken away from the seas. 

Still, even with a good amount of ale in his belly, he couldn't stop shaking. But I'm familiar with this itch. I just need a good spar or a good fuck. But not the latter, as Cersei had to stand tall and proud by the King's side. A fight will do then. But there was no one worthy to fight. He would fight his good friend Addam Marbrand or the Strongboar, but they were already deep in their cups. Strongboar roaring into his empty mug while Addam likely snuck off to get another son into his wife; Jeyne Farman. With the way they keep going, they're likely to have over seven children or more. Flem was nowhere in sight other; likely sending a raven to his stoat wife. How Lord Brax allowed his son to marry a Frey, he will never understand.

Well, I should focus on finding a nice ditch or cliff to piss off of. The ale was beginning to get to him. Quickly wrenching it out of his britches, his cock was in hand, flying free. As he let out a stream as large as the Mander, he thought he heard a girl giggling. Probably just the ale. As he pulled it back in and redid his britches, he had heard a giggle again. Suddenly, without warning like the wind, a maiden suddenly appeared forth. 

"Looks like everything about you lot is golden, isn't it?" she giggled. 

"What was? My piss or my cock? Surely, this is the first time you have seen a knight's most leal subject?" he snarked back at her. 

The maid in front of him was about six feet, rather lanky and armed with rather plain features. Long fingers and a long face with rather pretty forest green eyes and brown hair. She was no Cersei but she was pretty enough. He then took note of her dress. It was forest green with a black bear on it. It looked a bit familiar. 

"Trust me when I say this, but I've seen plenty of men waving their cocks about. Your's isn't as impressive as you'd like to think." she said snidely. 

"Just how many have you seen?"

"A great deal more than you, I reckon!" she roared with laughter. Now she is getting on my nerves. 

"Just who are you, and what are you doing around here?"

"Oh! Please, forgive me my lord. Dacey Mormont of Bear Island. Pleasure to meet you!" she said as she did a mocking curtsy. Mormont. Familiar. Quite familiar.

"Mormont. Mormont. I take it your Lord Jorah's daughter?"

"Gods, he's my cousin actually! But we're all quite proud of him."

"And you should. No small feat being knighted by a king, and having a highborn beauty like Lynesse Hightower for a bride."

"Well, we can't all piss and shit and gold like you, Kingslayer!" 

So she knew. She's a Northerner, it was a given. But she didn't say it with disdain. Rather it was rather mocking and japing. Like she wanted a fight. 

"I'll have you know that I can do more than shit and piss gold!" He then realized she was likely to say "you bring dishonour on yourself". It wouldn't be any different from the other nobles, except that she would have the gall to say it to his face rather than behind his back. 

"Yes, you do. Supposedly, you move like lightning. Dancing with your blade in hand. 'Oh, I'm Ser Jaime Lannister.'" 

Right then and there, was when he noticed that she had a blade by her hip. It almost made him laugh. It wouldn't be chivalrous to fight a maiden. Well, if she was one. She seemed more fitted to be a serving wench. I do need to get rid of this itch. 

"And you think that you can match me then?" he taunted. 

"Oh, no. I won't match you Ser Lion. I'll beat you!" she said snidely and proudly. 

They both took out their swords then. He positioned himself for the defense and she the offense. She came at him first and their swords kissed, fiercely, the swords kept kissing passionately as if they were lovers. The feeling of being strong and the intense rush as the dance quickened to a higher speed. By the gods, she is good. For a northern wench anyways. 

She was quicker than he thought her to be. He was having a hard time keeping up. Damn the ale! But he still continued. He pushed forward and Dacey took a step backwards before swinging her right arm and nearly knocking the sword out of his left hand.He was more surprised at her skill and her strength. He felt like he could do this for ages, until he had nearly tripped. 

The wench then had her sword by his neck then. She was smiling madly; though it is a rather nice smile.

“My my, how the lion has fallen.” She said.

Jaime turned and looked at her, surprised, but he quickly got to his feet. “I must admit that you are quite good, My Lady. Just how did you learn to fight like that?”

"All the men and maidens of Bear Island learn how to fight the moment they can hold sticks." she said with pride. 

They kept talking for hours on end. Both of them laughed and drank more than they should. Never thought a northerner could be good company. 

The rest of the night he can't seem to remember. All he does remember is that they clashed once again, in a different sort of manner. Their legs scraping against one another. Her nails scratching and pressing into his back. Their tongues and teeth moving and clashing against each other. He had never looked at or bedded another woman that wasn't Cersei. It was a bit exhilarating to be honest. 

Only one thing had remained to help him remember that night. A bearskin cloak.


	152. Maiden (Made In) Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up is losing some illusions in order to acquire new ones.

It was strange looking all around the castle. Winterfell. Her home. 

Way back when, when she was just a stupid little girl who thought herself worthy of a prince, and the knights in her songs. Worth more than the snow and ice the North had to offer. That girl had died long ago. Sansa Stark was no longer a sweet maid of summer. 

Now, she was a maid of winter. Summer could last for so long. But winter could last forever. In winter, the songs of summer do not matter. What matters is the coming winter. And this winter will indeed be long. 

Yet, even in winter, that has not stopped people from courting her. Many had courted her for many different reasons. And they all hurt her. And they all died. 

Joffrey, the golden prince that she thought he was, died horribly. Petyr Baelish, the man who once believed in songs like her, died at her own hand, with the very blade he used to take the life of her beloved father. 

Many had wanted her for either her beauty or her claim to Winterfell. Right now, she can't indulge their whims. She's a Stark of Winterfell, and winter is coming. But that doesn't stop them. Many young, strong and proud lords, young and old, keep offering themselves to be her new husband. But it's the other ones who seem to garner her attention. The ones who pledged to fight for her wholeheartedly, not for hopes of a lordship or lands. 

Timett of the Burned Man was one of them. Although he likely does want land, for his people at the very least. Close of an age to Theon but twice as tall and powerful and fearsome to boot with his burn scars around his eye. No one dare go near him. Even though he sworn his loyalty to her because she was the "Half-man's Wife", it was appreciated nonetheless. 

Byron the Beautiful, or rather his given name, Tyrek Lannister, was as gallant as he appeared. Other than her former lord husband Tyrion, he may be the only other Lannister who understands and wants to do the right thing. He had already been knighted and many expected him to leave to Casterly Rock, yet he had none of that. He did more than just rescue her with Timett's help. He had swore to fight and defend her back in the Vale, and he still upheld his promise. "I am a lion, fair lady, not a golden snake!"

Edric Brightstorm, as the young squire called himself, had pledged to fight for Winterfell and the North until he proved himself a man and a warrior. The way he said it, it sounded like a childish declaration. But he was proving himself an able and strong warrior, training day in and day out to the point of exhaustion with his knight Ser Andrew Estermont. 

Podrick Payne, who had been Tyrion's squire, had certainly proved himself as of late. He trained hard with Lady Brienne of Tarth, who insisted that she would not be sitting idly by stitching like other highborn ladies. Although she suspected that Podrick's pledge of loyalty was because he still considered her to be the wife of Tyrion Lannister, ultimately that did not matter in the end. Often beating the Kingslayer's squires, Garrett Paege, Little Lew Piper and the newly minted Ser Josmyn Peckledon. 

Olyvar Frey, seemed to be quite the exception from his infamous family of traitors. He had sworn his loyalty to her noble brother Robb, who had been mercilessly slain at the hands of the Freys and Roose Bolton. He claimed that he should have died defending his king. Robb must have truly inspired this boy now man, who was two years older than him. 

The young ironborn squire Wex Pyke had no reason to align himself to the Starks. And with such animosity between their people going on more than ever. But that did not deter him. Although, she did suspect he wanted to prove his worth for something much more. Not just a knighthood, but mayhaps a certain noble lady. 

Lord Edrick Dayne of Starfall and his friend Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill might be the most true in serving House Stark. Though he was certainly far from his home, Lord Edrick vowed to fight for the Starks. Ser Gendry had taken it a step further; having admitted that they hoped to see Arya again, who had been a good friend to them. He had sworn to serve not House Stark, but her and only her. And in turn, he would be allowed to continue his services as a knight and a simple smithy. Gendry stood by like a true and vigilant guard, a close comforting shadow. She had gained a leal soldier, a skilled smithy and a good friend in him. 

There were others who believed that their truthfulness was nothing more than some kind of jape or mummery. They are just fools who cannot see the real and honest truth. Fools still trying to curry favour or gain her hand in marriage. Justin Massey was one of them. He made it painfully obvious that he wanted her and her lands and title, or at the very least some lands in the North to call his own. The way he smiled at times unnerved her; often reminding her of the cruel smile of another lord she knew.

Harry Hardyng desperately tried to prove himself as Humble Harry instead of Harry the Arse, as she made him out to be back in the Vale. Though, she couldn't tell if his new change in attitude was because he wanted the opportunity to have a highborn beauty for a bride or to truly desire to become a better man. 

The stupid summer girl who dreamed of princes and true knights would not have given her most loyal knights the time of day. That girl would have easily fallen for Justin Massey's smiles and constant japes. Or for Harry the Heir's dimpled chin and blue eyes. That girl had died a long time ago, and was now a lovely beautiful maiden of winter. And frankly, she would rather remain a maiden rather than marry. Though, if given the chance, she would consider marrying the more honourable men. Mayhaps someone like Ser Gendry or Timett the Terror or even Tyrek Lannister. 

But she shouldn't be considering things like that. There is no time to consider or entertain such notions or ideas. 

Winter is coming for us all. 


	153. Of Royals and Outlaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King’s Men (BwB) rallies around a new King: Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, the Outlaw Knight, the Scaffold King, Lord of Battles, the Demon of the Trident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's what we are: ghosts. Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us but we see you.

His strength. His valour. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that this boy was his son. He fought and drank with the Whoremonger King for much of his life. He never met the man in his youth; in the prime of his life. If I had, I'd like to imagine he'd be like this. Except drinking and smiling more. 

Not that the boy wasn't good company. The one thing he knew he got from Robert was his deep belly laugh; so rich and down to earth. Though it along with his smiles were a rarity. He'd have any maiden he'd want if he smiled and laughed more. "We're at war, Thoros. You can't be smiling and laughing at war. Less you're a Lannister." The last time he remembered him smiling was when they purged Harrenhal of what remained of the Lannisters, and he had been reunited with a beautifully crafted horned helm of his.

Poor boy's seen much. Done much too. The first time he actually killed a man, was the first time he asked for a drink. All the times I offered, he finally wanted one. Though for a good reason. As much as grew and acted more like a man with each passing day, he was still a boy. He got roaring drunk and danced and kissed Long Jeyne Heddle. Though he regretted his actions when the morn had come, going on how that he shouldn't have kissed her like that and done it proper. The moment he said that, he'd been blushing like the maids who could and would blush for him. 

But there was so many ways on how the boy was different from his father. The boy had focus and drive, but he seemed to lack Robert's natural talent in weaponry at first. He, Lem and Pellos had trained him each passing day, watching him improve slowly but surely. But like his father, he did prefer his hammer. Surprisingly quick and agile with it. The warhammer he had now wasn't the great monstrous thing that Robert had, but he swung hard and true with it. 

And he finally seemed to get along with Little Lord Dayne now more than ever. The both of them played off each other's strengths with each day they trained; Gendry's strength and Little Ned's speed. Though, it was obvious he was holding back his real strength. If he did, he might've smashed the little lord's head in like his father did to Rhaegar Targaryen. 

He is undoubtedly a good leader like his father. If Robert met the boy, there would be no doubt in my mind that he'd be proud of the boy. The way he's been leading the Brotherhood without Banners was better than when the Lady did. He's been getting more and more names since he took over: The Outlaw Knight, the Scaffold King, the Lord of Battles, the Giant of the Trident. The Demon of the Trident reborn.

There was no doubt he was talented in fighting and warfare. None of us could have come up with that kind of strategy to infiltrate and take the Twins, even if he had some help from the Kingslayer and the Maid. The boy was as victorious as Robert in his rebellion. Harrenhal had fallen first and foremost. Riverrun had fallen soon after; taking the lovely Lannister lioness and her granchildren hostages. The Twins was his best; fighting just like he had imagined Robert would have fought. 

The way he swung his sword and clashed with it was like crashing thunder and lightning. Swift, hard and sudden. Bastard and Black Walder had given him a hard time. The two biggest weasels thought him too green and stupid. Green maybe, but not stupid. Black Walder had gotten his jaw stabbed upright with a dirk right through it, and Bastard Walder had gotten an ax cutting right through it. Fitting almost; a bastard killing a bastard. 

But this bastard - no, this boy - was so much more than that. He could be more than a great warrior like his father. He could be a great lord too. He knows more than what most of the prissy lords of the Seven Kingdoms don't. He can read and write well enough, he's been taught some history and law by us. He has lived with commonfolk, worked with his hands, swum in bloodied and grey rivers and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. 

There was no doubt that everyone was seeing what I am right now. The Maid and her squire, the hedge knight, the Kingslayer, the Blackfish and all the riverlords are seeing it too. The same men who once shouted for Robb Stark as their king. Calling to a new king. 

"THE KING OF THE TRIDENT!!"


	154. The Strong (Shireen/Robin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two ways of exerting one’s strength: one is pushing down, the other is pulling up.

It was a miracle that they had lived. No one had believed that they would. Many thought that they were better off dead. 

She was marked and marred by a disease no one could have or should have even survived. 

He was frail and sickly from the moment he had been born. 

And yet, they managed to survive it all. The people who cursed them and wanted them dead. A priest of light and a giant of darkness. 

It would have been a kindness to have let them die. But a lady of winter and a lord of onions had ensured that they would live and live vibrantly.

Many had thought the match to have been a poor one. One or both of them would surely perish. Yet, time proved them wrong. 

Young Lord Robin was still rather spindly but grew to be a rather handsome lad. Lady Shireen grew to be more beautiful, and would surely be more beautiful had she not been marred by greyscale. 

New falcon chicks born to the Arryn's and adding on to their legacy. Their heir; Gylbert the Giant's Lancer was growing into an able lord and the warrior that his lord father could never truly be. With each passing day, Rhae growing into a beautiful lady and the eye and envy of many young lords and ladies. Serena and Gwyneth little balls of life with the way they ran and yelled at one another. Axell worshiping the Warrior fervently. 

No, they had not survived. They had thrived on through the winds and wings of winter, and flourished more and more in the coming spring and summer. 


	155. Just (Sansa/Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To show his gratitude to the Brotherhood without Banners for taking back the Riverlands, Edmure makes Gendry Lord of the Crossing and offers him Sansa’s hand in marriage. She heard nothing but good things about him and is ok with him. Gendry is stunned that she wants him.

It was strange being in the Great Hall of Riverrun. He found himself sitting awkwardly across from Lord Edmure. He had only seen him once briefly. He no longer had a beard mattered with dirt and grime. He was now clean-shaven and his blue eyes seemed to have gained some luster back. His auburn hair was no longer a shaggy mane and looked tall and proud for a man of his status. Ordinarily, he would be standing before him but he insisted that he sit down like an equal. Most likely because he stood at least two heads taller than the lord.

"Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. I've heard much about you. Nothing but good things, really. You are undoubtedly a true knight, good ser!" he said with a smile.

"I do what I can, really. Try to live up to my vows as best as possible," he said sheepishly.

"Indeed you have! You and your band of brigands had taken back the Twins. I heard from Lord Mallister that you had personally slain Bastard Walder Rivers. A great big ax had dug its way into his head!"

"All of it was Lem's plan. We honestly couldn't have done it without Lady Brienne's help, truly!" he said.

He found it strange calling him that still. He wasn't Lem, the brigand knight from the riverlands. From what the Kingslayer had said, he was Ser Richard Lonmouth. "Sourmouth" the Kingslayer called him. Though long since dead, he was still a constant in his mind.

"Frankly, you did us all a favor. Getting rid of those weaselly gets. No offense to my lady wife!" he said with a hearty chuckle.

"No offense was taken husband!" Lady Roslin chuckled in turn. He had to admit that from what he knew and heard of the Freys, Lady Roslin was quite a beauty with her pale skin and delicate features. But there was steel well-hidden beneath those porcelain features. Also, she was gazing at him almost hungrily. It made him think that she may have reconsidered marrying Lord Edmure, or at least taken him on the table if he were not there.

"A good man like you ought to be rewarded for having performed such a service to us all. Many of my lords have insisted that I have the Twins torn down from it's roots. However, I have come to a more reasonable conclusion. You are undoubtedly a fine specimen and a skilled knight. Which is why I want you to be Lord of the Crossing!"

The shock of the news had caused him to spit out the wine that Lady Roslin had served. A lordly title and lands?? That was too much!!

"Honestly, my lord. I couldn't possibly be ... I honestly would be fine just being a part of your guard or serving as your smithy!!'

"Nonsense! Besides, I reckon a man like you would be tired of just serving all of your life. You will eventually have to take up a noble name. And all the lands and incomes of the Crossing, would eventually pass on to your future children. Which also reminds me, you are going to have to marry eventually. Frankly, if it were up to me and given everything she suffered, I wouldn't want to put her through this. And I might be considered "stupid" and "soft-hearted" but I have a good feeling about you. Which is why my niece Sansa had been inquiring about you. Practically asking to be your bride!" he says all with a hearty laugh.

Wife?!! Marriage?! All of it was far too much! Waitaminute, Lady Sansa? She's been asking about me? He only seen her a few times in passing when the Brotherhood had decided to trek up North to the Wall, and talked to her at least once about her sister Arya. She was undoubtedly beautiful and lovely, but why would she want to seek me out?

"You are meant for so much more than a life of a simple smith or a wandering hedge knight. What do you say, Ser Gendry of the Hollow HIll?"

"I ... will ... have to think on it."

* * *

It was a good feeling to be back at Winterfell. Even if it was to have a wedding. My wedding.

Every northern lord had gathered 'round and others. Arya and the little Lord Rickon stood tall and proud with smiles on their faces. King Jon, who had been his closest compatriot and good friend, had come to attend alongside Queen Daenerys. 

Many lords of the North had come to attend. He faintly recalled Lords Manderly and Umber; great giant men who practically dwarfed him. The She-Bears of Sea Dragon Point; their new seat. And many of the wildlings-turned lords. Like the squat Tormund Giantsbane and his tall son Toregg. 

Lady Sansa looked undeniably radiant. Her hair was as bright as a living flame and her eyes such a beautifully clear blue. Her dress was made of a pure white fabric with wolf fur lining around the neck. _This still feels strange. Why would she ask for me? Why would she even want me?_ But all of that suddenly disappeared when they went to the godswood and said their words. Her lips tasted as sweet as they looked. 

The feast itself was rather grand to say the least. Many lords were already merry with drink and jesting. He saw that young lord Rickon was jesting with the youngest she-bear. He had seen them spar in the training yard. They would be a lovely paring. Arya then looked at his direction and gave him a small smile. He felt a bit reassured by it. 

"TIME FOR THE BEDDING CEREMONY!!"

He then saw the flushed look on Sansa's face. He had heard from Arya all the things that she had suffered. No one should have to live through that. He and Jon were clearly thinking the same thing, but he got there first. 

"ANYONE WHO DARES TO TOUCH MY WIFE WILL ANSWER TO ME AND MY FISTS!!" he roared out. The room seemed to quiet then. He then gently took her hand and they both headed to their chambers. 

Their chambers were quite warm. Likely the warmest ones in Winterfell. Looking to Sansa then, he saw just how anxious she was. Almost fearful. 

_I won't dare hurt her. Not now, not ever._

Sansa then begins to loosen the laces of her dress. She kept on stumbling. Does she fear me? Or something else?

"Wait. Don't. We, we don't have to do this," he said, gently holding her hand. 

"I-it's tradition. A-and the be-bedding ..."

"I won't bed you unless you want to be bedded." he said. 

Her face doesn't look fearful anymore. If anything, she looks more hopeful, and disappointed as well. He then gently cups her face and brings it close to his. He feels tempted to capture her lips, but doesn't. 

"I promised to be a good and truthful husband to you, and to protect you first and foremost. The person you need protecting from shouldn't be me," he said forlornly. It is then he takes a small knife from a nearby plate of food and makes a small slice on his finger. Letting the blood drip on the bright white sheets. 

Just as he lies down on the bed, hoping to sleep at the very least, she captures him by his jaw and kisses him. It is rather sweet if not a bit forceful. Her lips are quite succulent and their tongues are dancing in each other's mouths. As it becomes deeper, his hands touch her by the crown of her head and her hands are clutching his shirt to try to hold him closer. He feels his face turning red. _Oh, great. I gave her a man's word and now I'm blushing like a maiden._ She then stares at him and notices that she's blushing too. She has a small but shy grin on her face. She grabs his face again and they resume their kissing. 

As they get closer, he finds himself feeling her tremble as his hands begin to lower and move toward her hips. He quickly notices how they brushed against her breasts, and he quickly takes a rather nervous gaze at them. He quickly stares back at her face, still blushing, but more with embarrassment and a bit of pride. Sansa grins before shyly yet hastily undoing the laces and belt of her dress, shaking it off to bare her body before him.

She really is beautiful. Her skin is like soft porcelain, but there's almost a fiery steel to her as well. _Is she even real, or is this just a dream? It must be, because never in his life, had he pictured himself kissing a highborn girl as beautiful as her._ Even if he became a bumbling hedge knight. 

"Seven Hells," Gendry breathlessly groans before coming down to capture her lips again, and feels her tremble through the material of her dress. He then moves from her lips to her neck. She then moaned breathily, grabbing him by the nape of his neck.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he sighs against her skin, his kisses moving down her chest, mouth hot and moist against the swells of her breasts. “I can't even believe you're real.”

“Gendry,” she whispers, inhaling sharply as he nudges the top of her gown away, his tongue flicking against the hard point of her nipple before taking it into his mouth. I _shouldn't do this. She deserves better than this: better than me. But I do want her._ Somehow, she senses his uneasiness.

"You won't ruin me. I, I want this," she said earnestly. 

“I won't ruin you,” Gendry swears, his hands skimming the length of her body. _She deserves better than you, bastard,_ said a nasty voice in his head _._

“I just wish to kiss you...everywhere.” Instead he kisses her, starting with her forehead and working his way down. Sansa cannot remain still when he begins suckling her breasts, and he finds himself moaning against her even as he slides his mouth down her stomach. She starts to cards her fingers through his hair; which spurs him on and stirs something in him.

“Close your eyes.”

He had heard some men talking about it but he had never really done it before. Gendry then puts his mouth between her thighs, his thumbs opening her as his tongue slides up the length of her, and she cries out, shocked at the act and overwhelmed by the sensation. He lifts his mouth long enough to shush her before returning to his task, and sees her face turning crimson in embarrassment at the sounds she is beginning to make. His tongue is insistent, lapping at her, his hands urging her thighs wider.

Suddenly, Sansa cannot help but shout, pushing her hips up as she tries to hold Gendry's mouth to her; as he is pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs before moving back to her breasts. She grasps his face, brings him close for a kiss. 

Both of them feel hazy as colors dance behind their lids as their muscles seize up, and then their respective bodies relaxes all at once. She looks undeniably beautiful, even now. _What on earth did I do to deserve her?_ As she pulls herself closer to him, nothing seems to matter. _But you are a just an upjumped bastard_ , the voice says again. He then whispers against her ear, “You're perfect.”

* * *

He had to admit that the Twins was a rather large and formidable stronghold. Two identical stone castles standing on a margin of the Green Fork of the Trident. High curtain walls, deep moats, and a barbican and portcullis in each. Channels can be dug to form moats, turning each castle into an island.

A stone bridge arches between the castles, with the bridge footings rising from within the inner keeps; wide enough for two wagons to cross abreast. The bridge is guarded in the middle by the Water Tower. This structure has arrow slits, murder holes, and portcullises for defense.

And it's mine now. It feels so strange. At best, I wanted to be a knight. I never thought that I would be a lord. But I am one because of the generosity of others. Lord Edmure allowed me to be Lord of the Crossing, and Jon and Daenerys trusted him to hold it. But Sansa will likely be doing most of the work; she's been training to be a lady of a castle all her life, Jon had told him. 

But as these lands are mine, the people are too. Even many of the younger deposed Freys. Not many of them could escape the taint their name had brought. Some of the families from the mother's half had been willing to take in the younger ones; allowing them to take on the family name so it wouldn't die out. Olyvar, who had been Robb Stark's squire was now the Lord of Rosby. And Red Walder made himself a vassal and took the name Riverswyft. There was no longer a Wall they could be sent to. They could join the Faith, and some of the boys could become Maesters. But for now, they were his responsibility. 

Right now, he had another pressing matter to attend to. Lord Edmure said that I would need a noble name now. I can't be Ser Gendry forever. 

Sansa had given him a book about all the extinct and deposed houses that had ever been and was. Though reading was still new to him, all of them had rather fascinating stories about them and how or why they became deposed or extinct. 

Mudd. No, it just reminded him on how people would look at him. Lower than dirt. Far too apt. Strong. Good name, if not a bit obvious. Teague was a strong name; but it was one fit for a  king. Lothston and Whent were cut from the same cloth; cursed to the bone. 

"What about Justman? They had great repute as kings. And you are a rather just man, if anyone dares to say so." Sansa said coyly. 

_Justman. The Just Man. Lord Gendry Justman. Lord Gendry Justman of the Crossing. I like the sound of it._

* * *

It had took some time to assemble his household, but it was nice having at least some fairly friendly faces around. Tom O'Sevens had agreed to stay and play his songs. Anguy being his captain of guards was a rather good choice, even if his sword skills were a bit average. Talking with him brought him more at ease. And reminded him of their days of the Brotherhood. 

Looking back now, they had taught him much. Before he finally passed, Beric had taught him on what it truly means to not only be a knight, but a true knight. Lord Ned had taught him about having proper courtesies. Anguy had taught him how to scout and hunt game. Harwin had taught him how to ride a horse properly. Thoros had taught him much about the Gods; his Lord of Light in particular. Pello, Thoros and Lem trained with him every day with any weapons they had found or stole.

In their own way, they taught me to be a proper little lordling. Did they know that would be my future? 

Now he was teaching what he knew to some others. Lord Blackwood had sent his young son Edmund Blackwood to squire with him, Rickard Wylde as well. Aemon and Martyn Rivers were his masters-at-arms, often training with him. Tarber was acting as his steward, and Cutjack was now his own smithy and Urreg his master of horse. 

Several of the Frey girls had found decent work as kitchen maids and such. They had kept an eye on Fair Walda and her son Walys. Both Lord Edmure and Patrek Mallister had admitted to bedding her, and she wasn't sure who the father could be. Still, the boy was rather sweet and could grow to be a good knight in his service. But that wasn't the problem. 

Some of the women made him feel a bit uncomfortable. Arwyn and Zia Frey in particular; the way they kept eyeing him. Like he was a piece of meat waiting to be swallowed whole. He wasn't sure what to make of that look. Whether it meant that they wanted their castle back and that he was the key to get it back. Or something else; he often seen that look on Jeyne and other maidens. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. 

He told Tom about it, and he just told him to "give the sweet lasses what they want". Anguy had told them the same thing more or less. He went on saying no lass would care if he was a hedge knight or the new Lord of the Crossing, wedded or not, many women would still want him. It was then he found himself thinking of Sansa, and his promises. To be a good and truthful husband to her. So, with a heavy heart, he decided to go to her chambers to talk to her about it. 

 _Nothing had happened between me or Arywn or Zia. So, why do I feel so guilty?_ The moment he knocked on her chamber door, he felt his heart beating hard. Like a beating of an anvil. The moment she came out of the door, he felt his heart skip a beat. She looks more beautiful with her bright red hair flowing freely. He then told her about the two Frey girls. The moment he did, she looked somewhat sad. Then she had a bold look to her, her eyes bearing an icy gaze. Beautiful yet frightful. 

"Why didn't you bed them?"

"Because ... I gave you my word. I promised that I would be a good and truthful husband to you. A knight, even a lord, should know how to uphold his vows." 

She kept staring at him then. Not like the way Zia and Arwyn did, but as if she was searching for something. And then, she reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

"You're sweet. Undeniably sweet. And handsome. You are ... more than I ever could have asked for, Lord Gendry. But I am a proper lady of winter now, not some dainty silly southron girl. And I'll have those temptresses sent away from here if they don't believe so," she said with a slightly taunting edge. 

"I think you're more a temptress then they are," he said cheekily with a hearty chuckle. Feeling rather bold, he then decided to kiss her. He half expected her to slap him or stop him. Instead, she kissed him back with much fervor. Suddenly, both of them began to undress one another; touching each other. Her fingers tracing the lines of faint scars and the ridges of his muscles, while his own had caressed her bosom and the shape of her bum. She squealed as she pulled him closer to the bed. 

Gendry became painfully aware on how close his cock was to her thigh. Suddenly, she looks at him as if she just knew what he was thinking. How does she know? "I want this. I want it. I want you, Gendry! Please!!" 

Slowly but surely he entered her. A faint trickle of blood spilled on the sheets and decorated his cock. It almost looked like a bloody sword. There was little finesse to it. The pace slow at first then going faster as she urged him. Pumping into her faster and harder as she kept spurring him on until they groaned in ecstasy. Squriting into her silly. Both of them quickly held on to each other shortly after. 

"I ought to confess something, my sweet lord."

"What is it?"

"Even when I had glanced at you back at Winterfell, I had thought you were handsome. You actually reminded me of someone who had helped me back in King's Landing. He had protected me in his own way, and Arya too."

"Who was he?"

"... Doesn't matter now. He died as he lived I supposed. Fighting to the last man. But you're a bit more handsome than he is, more charming too."

"Thank the gods. I thought I'd have to beat him."

"If he were alive, you probably could!"

"... Did you love him?"

"I cared for him deeply. But no, I did not love him. And for the longest time, I did not think I could ever love any man ever again. Until I saw you that day; wearing the armour of House Hornwood and training. It was then and there I felt something for you. That's why I kept asking my uncle about you. Though, it's strange being the lady of this castle."

He understood what she was talking about. Even after it happened, the Red Wedding was still talked about. Must be strange to be the Lady of the castle where your family and countrymen were slain. 

"It's not going to be like that. Not anymore. This is our keep now, and we'll make it the way we like it to be. We are just, are we not?'

She smiled at that. I think I'd die to keep her face smiling. 

"Yes, yes we are, my lord."


	156. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ever if I'm far away  
> I hold you in my heart  
> As he lays dying, Robb remembers his favorite moments with each of his siblings.

He could feel the crossbow bolts digging into him. He collapsed as he mindlessly stared at the bolts; digging into his flesh. 

_I'm dying. Gods, I'm dying. It cannot end this way. But it is and it will._

_Everything I've done, all I've done, is ending._ His mind then drifted to the days of before. The days of innocence that filled Winterfell. The days when he was still a boy. 

Rickon. There was a difference between them by ten years. Even though he was just a boy when he left him behind, he still remembers the babe he had been. The day he had seen Rickon walk was something magical. Father and Mother were proud, but he was walking toward his brother. _He did it for me._

Bran. The little boy who dreamed of being a knight. When he asked him why he wanted to be a knight, his answer surprised him. He thought it would be for glory and the honours in becoming a legend. Honors for House Stark. Bran told him it was to make him a more of an honourable man and inspire others to do the same. Not to bring honour to himself but to give honour. _Sweet little Bran._

Sansa. His sweet sister. The most innocent of his siblings. He recalled how he once challenged Jory and all the guards in honour of her. _"I am Ser Robb Stark of Winterfell, and I shall defeat you all!!" The days of pretending to be her knight in their games were done. I've tried and failed to be your knight sister._

Arya. His wild sister. They may not have been close as her and Jon, but he loved her nonetheless. He remembered how he chased her all through Winterfell for having taken his training sword. She then showed him just how skilled she was with it. She'd be a great warrior. A great lord if she were born a boy. If I could, I'd give her her own keep if I found her. I would have given you anything you wanted and more Arya. I'm sorry. 

Jon. Jon was the best of them all. He was more than his brother. Jon was his rival and his best friend. Since they were babes at breast, they had always been together. Playing together, laughing together, training together. A constant shadow. He could depend and talk to Jon about anything and everything for what would felt like days. And Jon would always listen. He remembered just how they had laughed and ran from Fat Tom as they dropped a mountain of snow on him.He was a bit jealous that he looked more like their father than he did. He was better than him in many things. Better at fighting, better at riding, and just as skilled in hunting. But I could never hate him. For he was and always would be his brother. 

" ... up! Get up and walk out! Please! PLEASE!!" 

Mother's voice. Mother. I've let you down too. I promised that I avenge Father and bring back the girls. I'm sorry. 

Father. He had taught him so much. He showed him how to fight as much as Ser Rodrik did. The first time he had gone hunting with him, he had felt scared. And he had told him it was alright to be scared, as long as he knew how to handle himself, and look at danger with a brave face. As that's the only time a man can be brave. Right now, I don't feel brave. I'm scared. I'm more scared than ever. I'm sorry Father. I never deserved to be King of the North; let along Lord of Winterfell. 

Mother. Mother. 

" ... Mother ..."

"The Lannister's send their regards"


	157. Touching Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flames were always meant for so much more.

The young man had kept on grumbling loudly. It made of little matter. This was a necessary sacrifice for the great wars to come. 

As they brought him closer to the fire, they removed the hood they had over him. The King of the South, the younger brother of Stannis of the House Baratheon, Renly. She understood his appeal. If he were to smile then and there, she was certain that it would be charming, and there was an easiness and warmth that his eyes had rather than the dark intensity of his brother. And there were small flecks of sea green in them rather than being a rich dark blue. But he was a good inch or two shorter than him and lacked the actual prowess of a warrior that his brothers and family were famed for. She had never met Robert Baratheon in his prime, but many had said that he resembled the king; but that he was shorter and less muscular than him. 

Stannis seems the more impressive specimen. But the ritual needed to commence. And it is necessary. 

The men then brought Lord Renly close to the fire, and his elder brother approached him. Just staring at him with the utmost disappointment. Anger and shame had filled Stannis' eyes. 

"My men will come looking for me, brother! You won't be getting away with this! You'd be a Kingslayer and a kinslayer!"

"Didn't you just tell all the lords at the parley that you'd more than eagerly kill me and take that burden yourself, Renly?" 

Rather than retort, Renly hung his head down in shame. He started to mumble something she could faintly make out. " ... orgi ... me .... ods, for ..."

"There is only one god Lord Renly, and his light judges you and the sins you have committed." 

The men that had taken Renly, which she realized was part of his ridiculous Rainbow Guard, had then restrained him. Mayhaps they didn't want to stay and play at war anymore. Mayhaps they have seen the light. 

"Brother! Stannis, please! Please don't kill me!! PLEASE, STANNIS I BEG OF YOU!!" 

Stannis then leaned in closer. "Don't worry, brother. I won't kill you. Someone else will be doing that for me. Once the Lord of Light gives me what I want and need from you. You'll finally be of some use," Stannis said almost cruelly. 

One of the men had then stabbed Renly by his gut and then used the same knife on Stannis. A small pool of blood formed between the two as they stood on the platform. She had heard that of this ritual. Rarely used and was said to be forbidden. But it is a necessity. For the night is dark and full of terrors. And Stannis will show them all the way. 

"LORD OF LIGHT, SHOW US THE WAY! WE OFFER THIS SINNER UP TO YOU, AND ASK THAT HIS LIFE AND LIGHT BE TAKEN AWAY. GIVE IT TO THIS MAN WHO IS TO GUIDE US AWAY FROM THE DARKNESS! FOR THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS!!" 

Renly continued to plead and scream while his brother Stannis remained calm as the flames began to engulf them both. It began to swirl around beautifully with the wind. The screaming was still heard loud as can be. 

"This is madness!" Lord Bryce said. 

"This is justice!" Ser Imry cried out. 

Soon, the flames had begun to die out. Stannis and Renly had both laid on the base of the platform. Renly no longer looked terrified, and Stannis looked far too serene for her liking. Has it been done? Has Stannis' light grown brighter? Or has it been extinguished?

Suddenly, Renly burst forth taking Lightbringer from Stannis. He did not look like a scared boy. Some of his long jet-black hair had been singed off, simply reaching his neck and jaggedly framing his face. His face looked more fierce than laughing. His eyes burning with intensity. 

"M-m-my lord?" said a simpering soldier. 

"I am your king. Not a lord," he said with Stannis' voice. It worked. It worked. Suddenly, a shrill scream had pierced them all. Stannis' light had left his body and had been given to his brother's more able body. And the same had been done with his brother. 

"WH-WH-what did you do to me?!! M-M-my hair ..."

"You can worry about other things than your hair, you simpering fool!" Stannis said as he slapped his impudent brother. It was strange looking at them now. Within each other's bodies, it looked like a young conqueror slapping a commoner who did not know his place. 

"Lord Bryce. Put my brother on his horse, and tie him up!" 

"Y-Yes, my lord!" Lord Bryce stammered. Renly then looked at Stannis in fear. 

"I know that the people have no great love for me. Yet, they do love you. Not to mention, I did hear Ser Loras actively talking about personally slaying me. This ... could work to my advantage. Fare thee well, brother." Stannis said, cold as ice. 

"No. Nononononono. Stannis, please!"

But Stannis had simply struck the horse and it spurred off; off into the Tyrell's camp. To the swords, pikes, maces, axes, warhammers, arrows and lances who swore to take down Stannis. And now they will. 

"It's time we begin our plans!"


	158. A Time to Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a time to reap, and a time to sow.

He felt more invigorated as he came to the fields of green that the Reach was famed and known for. This was far too exciting for him. Ser Perwyn Frey, Ser Wendel Manderly, Lord Robin Flint and Lucas Blackwood had accompanied him on this mission.

Though he had missed Pyke and wished that Robb had sent him there, he had to admit that this was far more important. Though they could use the ships. But an alliance with the Reach would be more beneficial than one with the Iron islands, truth be told. Although, if he had his way, he would have tried to work a betrothal between Robb and his sister Asha. He hadn't seen her in so many years, she surely most have grown into a comely enough lass. She'd be a bit older than Robb, but better her than one of Old Walder's stoats. 

Even if he might be hiding a lamb or two within his great stoat army. Like Gatehouse Ami, who had become a camp follower, and by far, his favorite companion. But he had to leave her behind at the camp. It'd be best for them to do so anyway. Perwyn had admitted that it was a bit disrespectful for her to be seeking someone else's bed shortly after the death of her husband Pate. But what's a mere hedge knight to a mighty kraken?

As they came closer to Bitterbridge, he took note of just how lively and grand the tourney they were throwing was. They certainly had more than enough coin to be throwing one, but was this truly necessary? We're at war! They must enjoy playing at one rather than fight a real one. Mayhaps the north has rubbed off on me ...

He took note of the two knights that were fighting in the melee. One was lean but fast, with armour decorated with flowery patterns and sapphires. That must be the famed Knight of Flowers. I'm certain Robb could knock that pompous flowery prick on his arse. The other was a hulkling brute in cobalt armour, who struck harder and harder. That was what he had expected out of King Robert; not the fat lout he had become. The smaller knight soon began to overwhelm the bigger one but as he prepared for the final blow, the blue knight charges into it, grapples him to the ground, and opens Tyrell's visor with a dirk to make him to yield. 

Suddenly, he hears them all shout "Tarth!", "A Beauty!" He then turned to see the King in the South; Renly Baratheon. He certainly looked to what he had seen and remembered of King Robert; albeit shorter and less muscular. Less fearful. And his queen, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. There was no doubt in his mind that she was a great beauty. Her figure was slender but womanly with smooth unblemished pale skin and sizable teats to fit her frame. She seems rather lively with a sweet but somewhat shy smile. With her thick, softly curling brown hair and large brown eyes, she looks as innocent as a doe. 

"Well fought! Well fought! Approach!" "King" Renly called out to the knight. As the knight bowed, he then instructed the knight to rise and remove his helm. Much to his surprise, it wasn't some large man but a rather large woman. She was as tall as Dacey Mormont, but had none of her grace. She was undoubtedly, muscular, flat-chested, and ungainly, with long, shoulder-length brittle straw-colored hair and broad, coarse features that are covered in freckles. Her mouth is wide, her lips are swollen, and her nose has been broken more than once. She may be the ugliest wench he had ever seen, but she does have large, beautiful blue eyes.

"You are all that your father promised and more my lady. I've seen Ser Loras bested once or twice, but never in such a fashion."

"Now, now, my love. My brother fought valiantly for you," Lady Margaery said in defense to the Knight of Flowers, who obviously scowled in having been beaten by a woman. The Mormonts would give him a run for his gold.

"That he did, my queen. But there could only be one champion! Lady Brienne of Tarth, you may ask anything of me you desire. If it's within my power, it shall be yours!"

Lady Brienne of Tarth then sternly bowed, albeit awkwardly. "Your Grace, I ask the honour of a place in your Rainbow Guard. I will be one of your Seven, pledge my life to yours and keep you safe from all harm!" 

He saw that all the men had gasped and scoffed at the notion of joining Renly's ... Rainbow Guard. Normally, he would scoff too but he'd seen the wench fight. She may be ugly but she's a great fighter. No one could doubt that, and she could easily defend herself and Renly. 

At first, Renly looked stern, but quickly smiled and granted her request. "Arise, Brienne the Blue!" And the those whom had scoffed before, had been clapping alongside Renly and even after as he fastened a rainbow cloak on to her. 

Ser Colen of Greenpools then stepped forward. "Your Grace, I have the honour to bring you Theon Greyjoy, sent as an envoy for Robb Stark the Lord of Winterfell!"

"Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North!" Theon cried out. The others had gently murmured "King in the North!"

"Lord Theon. It is a pleasure to meet you. This is my wife, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell!" he said, eagerly showing off his wife like he was displaying a new blade. 

"You are more than welcome here, Lord Greyjoy. Send the Starks my condolences, I am so sorry for their loss." Lady Margaery said earnestly. 

"You are most kind. But I feel their loss as keenly as they do. Lord Stark was like a father to me. I share King Robb's loss and burden." he said proudly that he surprised himself. He hadn't had many pleasant memories of Lord Balon Greyjoy. But all the memories he ever had of Robb and Lord Eddard were playing in his head. Just how many times have those grey eyes of his stared into me?

"My lord. I swear to you and the Starks that I will see the Lannisters answer for Lord Eddard's murder. Once I take King's Landing, I will bring them Joffrey's head!" Renly declared. All the men had gone and cheered with him uproariously.

"It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord."

"Your Grace. And you should kneel before your king." Brienne had scolded him. "And you should kneel before you approach your king"

"There's no need for that. Lord Greyjoy here is an honoured guest," Renly said. 

"Has Lord Robb marched against Tywin Lannister yet?" Ser Pretty had asked. 

"I may sit on the King's war council, but I will not share his battle strategies with the likes of you!" Theon said with enough anger in his voice to scold the arrogant twat. Suddenly, a large lean balding man with a huntsman blazoned on his jerkin approached.

"No disrespect to you, Lord Greyjoy, but it would have been more seemly had Lord Robb  come to pay homage to the king himself, rather than hiding behind his mother’s skirts or someone else's for that matter!" he said. 

"Robb Stark is fighting a war, not sitting around and playing at one!"

Renly then descended from the dais and approached him. "Don't worry, my lord. Our war is just beginning!" 

As he walked with him, he saw that he was much a "man of the people" as everyone claimed him to be. Checking with a master of horse, asking him about the creatures. Always with a smile. It was then he realized that he didn't really care for them really. All of it was like the tourney and that garish green armour of his; all for show with no genuineness. Not like Lord Stark; he didn't do it all with a smile on his face but he did inquire of his servants with true genuine thought.  

"I have over a hundred thousand men in my command. All the might of the Stormlands and the Reach!"

"And all of them as young and bold as your beloved Knight of Flowers, I take it. Arrogant twats who haven't' had a taste of war. It's all a game to you all, isn't it? I can't believe I'm saying this about the South, but I pity you all."

"And why is that my lord?"

"They're just knights of summer, and winter will be coming for them all."

"Ned Stark surely must have been a father to you if you're willing to evoke his house's words, Lord Greyjoy!" he said with a laugh, but he heard the sneer when he called him Lord Greyjoy. Like he needed to be reminded just where he came from. I may not be of his blood, but Robb was his brother in everything but name. A better brother than the twats he had to call brother. 


	159. Sleeping Crow (Jon/Val)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say if you dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true.

Three days. It's been three days since that Red Witch had done her spell on him. She claimed that she could bring him back with her black magic. Yet, nothing had happened so far. 

Jon Snow was still not moving. He was breathing, but not moving. 

Most of his black brothers who had done the deed had already been killed. The Old Pomegranate had been crying big fat tears as they and the other black brothers called for his head. They couldn't trust the other crows now. Only the ones who were willing to follow their King Crow. 

The Aurochs and the Mummer had come back to help keep watch over him. Halder the "Stone-Head" and Hareth the Horse often switched with them. Satin the pretty lass often stood by, trying to get him to eat at the very least. There were others she was not willing to trust by him but let them on the words of the others. Little Lync, Albett, Garrett Greenspear, the "Great Sers" Arnell, Orson Stone, Aemon Rivers and Jon Stone. The golden boys Arron and Emrick and the smirking lad Dannel Hill. 

It was surprising to see them all so devoted for him. Jon Snow is truly something else if he can inspire such loyalty in these men. He and Mance may have more in common. 

She kept watch over him more lately than the others. As much as they wanted and like to, they can't keep watching and taking care of him all day and night. Except maybe Satin. 

"He chose me to be his steward. And this is what the steward of the Lord Commander does; he takes care of the Lord Commander!"

She couldn't deny his logic, but there was something in his voice that seemed to suggest otherwise. Was he truly that devoted to him? Or was he in love with him. 

Though, it's not hard to fall for Jon Snow. Sure, he was more pale than ever. But he was still a comely lad. His dark curls now hung more loosely but neatly framed his face. The scars by his eyes made him look quite fearsome. But now, his lean and hard face just seemed as soft as lambskin. And his lips looked surprisingly soft and full too. 

The thought has occurred to her many times, but never had it resonated as strongly as it did now. Val then inched herself closer to him; cupping his face gently. _He was one of us for quite a while. I doubt he does anything gently_ , she laughed inside. But then she kisses him. _They **are** soft._ Yet, she keeps kissing him. He can't feel it but she certainly feels something. 

With a surprise, she feels his lips tugging at hers. _He does kiss rough. I wonder what else he likes rough._

As the kiss is done, he looks shocked and gasping for air. 

"I welcome you back to the land of the living, Jon Snow!"


	160. The Coming Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Stark sigil should be a man kneeling before a woman with a wet chin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starks are men of few words but cunning linguists. It is known.

_**Ashara** _

It was surprising just how much she loved his kisses. They were sweet and almost chaste. If she hadn't suddenly brought out her nerves and dare to strike her tongue at him. He didn't seem to mind. If anything, it spurred Ned on. His kiss deepened more. She almost wants to take him right here and there. The godswood was rather quiet right now. And who better to view their coupling than the gods themselves?

Suddenly, she loosened the lines of her dress and she slowly had started to loosen his jerkin. Now both of them were bare before one another. He was certainly handsome, her wolf. His frame was leaner than his braggart brother but he was impressively muscled. Her hands then come to his belt to loosen his britches. Suddenly, his hands slowly move her closer to the soft ground. His lips then moved from her lips to her neck. 

As nice as it felt, she didn't feel or hear his britches being removed. He's still half-dressed. Why are y- suddenly, she felt something wet and wide on her clit. His tongue. She felt his growing beard beginning to tickle her thighs. The more she giggled, the more she found herself moaning. 

Her thoughts began to drift off. He kept on blushing like a maid the entire time we talked. His kisses were undeniably sweet if not a bit chase to her liking. How on Earth was he doing this? Mayhaps he's not much of a sweet northern maiden as sh - Those thoughts quickly went away as she felt his tongue digging deeper and moving quite skillfully around her folds. The grip of his hands tightening around her knees, as he put them on his shoulders. 

_Good Gods! Oh, don't end. Oh, please don't stop Ned!_

* * *

It had felt like hours of his tongue roaming around her clit that they had taken each other. While it was a bit clumsy, it was undeniably sweet if not a tiny bit fast. His skilled tongue made her all the more wanton and quickly turned their coupling into a hurried affair. 

The both of them were breathing hard and heavy. But now, she was curious. "What you did before ... with your mouth. Is that how you the lords of the North and Vale kiss your ladies?"

"I'm not sure really. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you ... everywhere." He said rather sheepishly. "You seemed to like it," he then said with a grin. 

"That I did, my sweet wolf. But you northerners have it wrong. The wolf shouldn't be your sigil; it's a man kneeling before a woman with a wet chin!" 

 

_**Catelyn** _

It had been such a long time since she had been to a large feast such as this. But this was to be expected, as the Lord of Winterfell had returned to the North following the Greyjoy's Rebellion. They were celebrating how the ironborn had been crushed and thrown back into the sea. 

She hadn't seen her husband in so long. It surprised her just how much she missed him; and not just so he'd see his new daughter. Though I will give him a son, I've prayed to the Seven everyday. I would be happy if our boy not just looked like a Stark, but also have Ned's sweet smile. I'd like that with all my heart. 

But that needs to be the furthest thing from my mind now. Right now, we need to attend the feast. We are throwing it, even though it was more or less expected to honour Ned himself for returning victorious. 

"It'd be better if everyone drank themselves into a stupor already," Ned mumbled. Her husband was not one for feasts; especially one so extravagant. Frankly, she would do well without it as well. The only thing she has half a mind to is simply holding her husband as tightly as she could. 

"That would certainly be helpful my lord. But I'm afraid that this is our duty," she said rather grimly. 

"Right now, I'd rather do something else than my duty to entertain the northern lords, my lady." he said with a grin. With surprising swiftness, he gently clutched her by the jaw and kissed her. He feels intoxicating. She didn't realize just how much she missed his sweet kisses. He then left her lips and started to pepper her neck with them.

"Ned ... Ohh, Ned!" she moaned out. 

His hands then roamed around her body and then cupped her arse. Suddenly, he began to mouth her still-covered bosom. 

"Ned ... my lord ... W-W-We need to go to ou - "

Suddenly, he had knelt down and lifted up her skirt. His hands were tugging the lines of her smallclothes. 

"We, we sh-should re-re-really go to the fea-feast, Ned!" she breathed out. 

"Why? I'd rather have the feast right here!" she felt him smirk. 

It was best to not argue. I've missed  _this_  far too much ...

 

**_Roslin_ **

She shouldn't feel so nervous. I should feel grateful that the Young Wolf had chosen me to be his bride. 

He's so handsome. Everyone says that he favors his mother's family, the Tullys, far too much. She's never met the Starks but there's a certain iciness in his blue eyes. And faint flecks of grey in them that the Starks are famed for. 

The wedding was a rather grand affair. A double wedding much like the last time Westeros was at war. Though its him and his uncle Edmure. A Frey bride for the houses of Stark and Tully. Edmure and his new wife were rather eager to be bedded. 

Not her, she felt more scared than she has been in her life. Her lord father has told her many times, when he bothered to pay attention to her, that she was a pretty little lamb in a castle filled to the brim with stoats. Not once did she feel like that, not even now. 

Instinctively, she covers her bare chest with her arms. But what good would that do? But it is then she realizes that Robb is quite embarrassed himself. His face is as red as his hair and a faint smile on his dimpled chin and cheeks. 

She then notices every bit of his features. Bouncy auburn curls adorning his head, bright blue eyes with faint grey flecks, his body hard and lean with some faint scars lining his chest. When he decides to move closer to kiss her, she feels herself being set ablaze. It's a bit clumsy but invigorating. Right now, in this instant, he looks and feels more like a boy just wanting to kiss a girl rather than go to war. 

He then looks at her. "I, uh, I've, haven't really done this before." he said sheepishly. She had not given thought to the fact that he may be as much a maiden as she is. But there is not time to take a woman during war. Even though Black Walder had said that many times. 

"Well, my lord. I must confess that I don't have much experience in this either," she said cheekily. He then gives a faint smile at her. It's a nice smile. He then begins to kiss her again, this time with more vigor. Their bodies moving closer in tandem as they begin to touch one another. His hands come closer to her thighs, gently rubbing them. Slowly tracing small circles to them, close to her ... cunt. His fingers then gently glazing by her bum. 

His lips then leave hers and begin to kiss her neck, then moving down to her breasts, mouthing them. His teeth teasing around her nipples. His lips then press gentle kisses around her soft pale belly. He then starts to  ... kiss her ... cunt. She gasps at the suddenness of it. His tongue then starts to roam around, lapping around as if he changed from the sweet courteous lord to a rabid dog. 

"Do you ... like that, my lady?" he asks. All she can do is hopelessly nod, and he quickly resumes. 

"Oh! Oh! Ohh, Robb!" 

Things are going fast. Ami had always talked about her perverse actions in great detail. Is this how it's like? Is this how it feels? But we have not bedded yet. 

"Robb! Suck me. Suck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me!!" 

"As you say my lady!"

Nothing else mattered then and there. Even with the pain and the sheets stained with her maiden's blood, she had never felt so alive. 

 

_**Alys** _

"I must thank you again, my lord. I now have a wildling husband and army willing to help and defend me." she said with a smile. 

"It was of little to no consequence, my lady" Jon Snow said courteously and just as somberly. He has grown more handsome in the last time they had seen one another. Of course, they were both children then. Stupidly foolish children filling their heads with dreams. 

"I will repay the debt you owe me." she tells him, as she gently holds to his wrist. His eyes are so breathtakingly yet sad as well. But they had the same fierceness that Sigorn's have too. 

Quick as a whip, she grabbed him by the neck and brought him to her level. Their lips crashing quite furiously. They're so soft.

She feels him try to turn away. "Alys. W-W-We can't. You're a married lady now."

That had stung a bit. But she quickly shrugged it off, and began to kiss him again. "I told you that I would repay the debt you owe me, my sweet lord." Her lips then began to pepper his neck with softer kisses. She could feel and hear him moan; he wasn't protesting as much as before. Slowly and subtly, she began to loosen his britches. 

"And a Karstark always pays her debts."

Before he could even utter a protest, Alys had his member in hand and began to stroke it. Already hard as stone. Just as he gained some strength of stubbornness, she had lightly spit on his cock and began to stroke it more, before engulfing it in her mouth. Her hands lightly grabbing his legs. Sucking him slowly and tracing her tongue and lips on it; teasing him. He's quite large, it can barely fit my throat.

She then felt something beginning to spurt. He's coming and quite soon. She could tell that he's trying not to, even without looking up. The muscles on his thighs were tightening. Well, there's no harm done. He won't be giving me a babe anytime soon. As he squirted in her mouth, she more than eagerly swallowed it all. She then saw Jon slumping by his desk. 

"Like I said my lord, a Karstark pays her debts!" 

Before she can leave, he grabs her by the shoulders and begins to kiss her again. She should stop, but she wants his lips on hers again. 

Suddenly, she feels his teeth almost gnawing on her shift and his fingers practically clawing under her skirts. He then lifts her and gently puts her on his desk. Before she can even ask, his tongue is already on her, lapping at her folds. She had never felt this before. Her cheeks feel more and more red as he keeps at it. 

"O-Ooh, d-do-don't s-s-stop!!" 

She wants to scream, but that would draw attention to what they're doing. But not even covering her mouth with her hand would stop it much. Gods, that tongue is magical!

Her legs then went numb as she climaxed. Hanging loosely by his shoulders. 

"I, I guess I'm still indebted to you, my lord!"

 

**_Shireen_ **

This was quite frightening. Before he had died, her father had been able to secure a betrothal for her. The heir to Winterfell; Rickon Stark. Although, he was only seven namedays when he had been found and the betrothal had been made, and she was only one-and-ten.

Now, she was finally to be married. Although, she knows that many of the northern lords had objected to the union. Saying that the South had taken too much from the North and the Starks, and that he deserved a proper northern bride. And yet, Lord Rickon had objected to their words. 

That was surprising by him. From what she had heard and seen of him, he had lived in the wilds and the island of Skagos with a wildling and his direwolf protecting him. Learning to fight with and like a wildling and a Skagosi. He was tall and fearsome with wild auburn curly hair reaching to his neck. His blue eyes were icy yet showed a fiery anger towards many, But there still seemed to be a fire to them. Supposedly, his body was armed to the bone with scars, much like the one He often scowled or smirked but rarely smiled. Yet, he was willing to keep his word. Although, she had heard that he had repeatedly bedded Lady Lyanna Mormont. 

She felt more and more nervous as Davos escorted her to the godswood. Rickon was there, looking as tall and fierce. His wild curls now neatly combed and his eyes looking resplendent and vibrant. Rather than a smirk, he had a small smile on his face. Although, she wasn't sure if it was for her, himself, or for Lady Lyanna who was in the procession.

It went as Northern weddings go, for what she had known of them. Then the festivities had begun, it was surprisingly festive. As they called for the bedding, she felt terrified as the northern lords had pawed at her dress. Rickon had surprisingly laughed and jested with the girls who were undressing him. 

As they had been brought to their chambers, Rickon had surprisingly stood rather confidently. He then quickly brought himself close to her, as quick as the wolf he was famed to be. He then kissed her. His lips are soft and gentle rather than hard and demanding as she thought to be. 

He then looked to her. "I-I'll try to be gentle. I-I haven't done this much," he said with surprising honestly. His words didn't seem to be laced with anger or a false sense of mirth. He then captured her lips again. She liked the taste of them. Then they moved to her neck. It felt strange, but Maester Samwell had managed to remove her greyscale scars, so it felt strange that he wasn't kissing and complaining of the taste of stone on his lips. It felt nice ... and warm. 

His lips then trailed to her ear. Oooh, tickly. He then trailed down to her chest; mouthing at her breasts. His teeth gently nipped at her own nipples. She had heard her septa telling her that only whores felt pleasure, but she must have been wrong. She felt her body trembling with each kiss that he pressed down her body. 

Aaahhhh! Wh-Wha-What is he doing with his mouth now?!! W-Wha-What in the name of the Gods is this?! His lips and tongue are still gentle, if not demanding. His thumbs gently passing around her thighs. She felt her legs and body shaking. What's happening? What's happening?? 

Whatever had happened to her; what he just did to her, it was amazing. She felt herself more brave. More willing to be brave to be bedded by him. Nothing could truly hurt her. He wouldn't hurt her, and she knew that now. 


	161. Sobriety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, Robert Baratheon took it upon himself to get his uptight younger brother properly drunk.

"Sometimes Robert, you are impossible to deal with!" Stannis gritted. 

"Oh, c'mon, Stannis! Calm yourself!" Robert bellowed out jovially. "It's a feast, enjoy yourself!"

Stannis sighed heavily, exasperated by his brother's antics.  "Alright then. I need something rather strong to put up with you. Could you pass me that mug of ale beside you?"

Ale? Strong drink? Stannis?? 

OOOOOOOOHHHHH, NNNNNNNOOOOOOO!!

"Oh, uh, um, I don't think so!" Robert cried out, almost nervously. 

"Hmm? Why not?"

_"C'mon, Stannis! You need to learn to enjoy yourself! Have a drink! Then have a wench! Maybe have another drink than a wench! Just stop being so damn grim for once in your damn life!!" Robert cried out. His sixteen year old brother was far too serious for his liking. **It's almost like dealing with Father, but not even Father was such a stick in the mud.**  _

_"Robert, I don't want to drink!"_

_"Ohh, c'mon Stanny! It's one drink of ale, or some of the finest vintages of the Arbor!! It's not going to kill you!!" Robert said, practically bellowing at the boy._

_Stannis looked pensively at the drink. As if he was trying to find some of the Lannister's famed gold. He then breathed out a heavy sigh._

_"Alright then. One drink, but only one!!"_

_Robert howled in joy and amusement. "Alright then lads!! Today's the day my brother becomes a man for true!!" He shouted as he held up a heavy mug of ale._

_As Robert had needless chugged down his mug, he saw his brother gently sip his cup of Arbor gold wine.  
_

_"Ohh, what the hell are you doing, man! Drink it! You're not at a council meeting, you're at one of the finest taverns the Stormlands has to offer! Now DRINK!!"_

_Robert then held the goblet close to his brother's lips and all but forced it down his throat, nearly causing him to choke._

_"Ugghh, uh, um, i-i-it's kinda g-go-good!" Stannis said with a grin._

_Robert and his companions quickly bellowed out in amusement. Before long, Stannis had practically drank an entire cask. Before long, he had been chatting up a girl. Lord Morrigen's daughter Gwyneth from what he could tell. **Alright, Stannis!!**_

_They were both quite close that they were almost touching. **Stannis, no. She's a nobleman's daughter!** As he got closer to them, he started to make out part of their conversation._

_" ... had happened next then?"  
_

_"From what I knew, it was Robert's fault. For once in his life, he did something wrong. But then again, he was the one who brought the girl to Storm's End!"_

_Wait, wait, waitaminute. They're talking about ... me??_

_" I can't imagine Lord Robert doing something wrong! What did he do?"_

_"It wasn't what he didn't do,m more like what he ... couldn't do! I heard them going at it like rabbits, and Robert's almost screaming. All I could hear from her was 'Robert, .... was that it?'"_

**_OOOOOOOOHHHHH, NNNNNNNOOOOOOO!!_ **

_Gwyneth then started laughing uncontrollably. "And then what?"_

_"Oy, oy, oy, oy, oy, OY! That did not happen like that!" Robert said as he approached them._

_"ROBERT!! MY BELOVED BROTHER!!" Stannis cried out, slurring his words._

_"Lady Gwyneth, how do you do? And it was not like that!"_

_"Robert, my bed chambers are across from yours. I could hear everything. She said that you couldn't get it up. What couldn't you get up?!" Stannis said in his usually serious voice, but he could hear the mockery beneath it. Stannis then laughed quite merrily with her until they began to kiss._

_"So, do you think you'd have Lord Robert's affliction, my lord?"_

_"I could surely get it up!"_

**_Get it up. Get it up. Get it up. Get it up. Get it up._ **

"Robert? Robert!"

"Hmm, wha?'

"Why shouldn't I drink ale?"

"Oh, uh, because um, I'm the Whoremonger King, not you!! I do have a reputation to maintain!" 

Stannis just looked at him pensively, as he usually did. "As you will."

_Never again. Good Gods, never again!!_


	162. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking to the past can help or hurt, sometimes both

It's almost unnerving looking at Rickon at times. He was practically a babe when he last saw him. A boy of five namedays who would follow him and Robb around like a lost puppy. 

Always having a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes, and a heartwarming smile. That's the boy he likes to remember. 

He's now as hard as the island where he was taken care of. His bright auburn hair long and unruly, reaching his shoulders. His eyes now as sharp and cold as ice. More often than not, there was a scowl across his face. At times, an amused smirk of sorts. His baby brother is a distant memory. 

Yet, there are times when he looks at him, that he sees the brother he loved so much. Even after all the time that passed, Robb would always be his brother. He was growing taller each passing day, reminding him of the brother he missed and the one he lost. A man grown in so many ways, but still a boy.

There are times when he is still indeed a boy. He fights as fast and furiously as a wolf, but once he gets to the kitchens, he all but demands the applecakes to be served first. When he practices his riding, he whoops with such childish glee as he challenges everyone within reach to race. Though, he claims to miss his unicorn companion; Ser Horn. It was amusing a name as Shaggydog. Though, the wolf did not look like a shaggy dog in any way. He looked like a living dark storm or shadow that hung around Rickon. An ever vigilant guard. 

No matter how many times, he hides it, Rickon is still a boy. With pain and fondness, he recalls how when he first saw him, Rickon cried out "FATHER!!" and leapt into his arms. He was so struck by the fact that he was alive that he didn't bother to correct him, He could have called him "Father" til the day he died. He was just glad that his youngest brother was alive. 

But then he did have to tell him, and remind him that Eddard Stark was gone. Rickon all but burst into tears; proclaiming him Father. It would have been easier to say that. Many people took a good enough glance and all but thought him to be Lord Eddard Stark come again. 

In all honesty, he's quite proud of Rickon. He's come to fit more and more into his lordly duties. Now, for a boy of nearly two-and-ten namedays, he is as tall as Robb was at the age of four-and-ten. But no matter how much he grows, he's his little brother. His face still lights up when he's training with a sword or ax. He grins like a loon for applecakes. And he always snuggles into his chambers, madly clutching on to him; threatening not to let go.

_You'll always be my little brother._


	163. The Tattered and the Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One, two princes kneel before you  
> That's what I said, now  
> Princes, Princes who adore you  
> Just go ahead, now

It was strange to him, even after he had taken on the cloak. Many had thought the Prince of Dorne dead. And many men of the Windblown had died under his leadership. It felt better that Gerris had taken some of the burden off of him; wearing the ragged raiment. Both often switching whenever they could. While he doubted that he could truly lead anyone, Gerris had assuaged him of his guilt. "They're sellswords, Quent. Loyal to no one but themselves and coin." Although, he did manage to befriend two sellswords who were the only others who knew his secret and managed to stay alive; Ser Tim Stone and Ser Garibald of the Orphans. 

He was not Quentyn of Dorne, or Frog the Sellsword. I can't be Quentyn of Dorne now. For now, he needed to remain the Tattered Prince. And now, the Dornish delegates were swearing their allegiance to Daenerys, who had taken back the Iron Throne. Right by her side was the long-lost Prince Aegon. He seems to be the perfect fit for a husband for her. Not like I. Straight as a lance, a strong jaw on a cherub-like face with his Valyrian features, and piercingly captivating deep purple eyes. 

Everyone around seemed anxious. What was left of the Lannisters had knelt before them, the Starks, Tullys and Arryns reluctant, the new Baratheon rather cautious, the Tyrells all to eager and the Greyjoys with much conviction. Even now, no one had paid him much mind. Tim and Garibald were by his side as the Dragon Queen and King had decided to induct new members of the Kingsguard; as many had been killed in retaking the Iron Throne. Sers Meryn and Boros had died trying to protect their false queen from the traitorous Ser Osmund and his brother Osfryd. The abomination that was Ser Robert Strong perished along with the Mad Queen. Ser Jaime died valiantly knowing the honour of fighting on the right side. Only Ser Balon Swann and Ser Loras Tyrell remained and allowed to stay. Though now, Ser Loras looked less a flower and more a feared warrior with the right side of his face a burned ruin. 

Queen Daenerys had her own Queensguard armed with foreign sers. King Aegon's Kingsguard had barely been completed when he rode off to take back his kingdoms. The only ones who occupied a seat were Ser Rolly, Ser Daemon Sand, and Ser Garth Greysteel. He needed two more valuable and valorous knights. So far, only his friend Archibald Yronwood was being inducted into Aegon's Kingsguard. He stared in awe as his friend knelt before the King, taking his vows. 

"With how big the man is, I would have thought him to be another man like the Mountain." a man said. Quentyn was not one to anger easily, but how dare this man insult his friend!! He suddenly felt the urge to strike the man. Tim and Garibald seemed to sense the tension he felt as they inched their fingers at the pommels of their swords. He then turned to face the man, his fist prepared to collide into his face.

"But I suppose he cannot be judged solely on that. He looks imposing, but he surely seems a true and proper knight. Someone as imposing as the Mountain, yet possessing a softness to him." the man said. That sounded more like Arch, though he was not as soft as a mewling kitten, if that was what he was insinuating. The man then turned to look at him asking, "What do you think, ... ser?" It was then he took note of the man. His attire was a simple grey roughspun tunic over a plain black leather jerkin. He was taller than him if not younger by a year or two. His hair long and dark with curls reaching to his neck which neatly framed his face. He had a strong but narrow jaw; like an entrancingly entrenching spade. His eyes were undoubtedly wondering. They were a shade of grey that glistened brightly like steel but they held a sadness to them. A shade of grey so dark they almost looked black. Upon looking at them closely, he saw that they weren't as grey as he thought; they were a dark indigo. It was then he realized who the man was. 

Jon Targaryen. The Winter Prince, the Bastard Prince, the King of Crows, the Ice Dragon. On his jerkin was his own personal sigil, a white dragon on black. The long lost son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. And if rumours were to be believed, he often shared Queen Daenerys' bed more often then his brother, though many have also said that they shared her bed together. Though he dressed rather plainly, he stood as tall and proud as a prince would. His own set of titles, though not as long as Daenerys' were just as imposing. Daenerys' titles of Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains displayed her regality while Aegon's titles of the Lost Dragon and the Daring Dragon showcased his recklessness. Prince Jon's titles however, showed just how fearsome he was. He even looked as fierce as his titles made him out to be. 

"Actually, who are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Jon Targaryen asked. 

He then mustered enough bravado to sound like his predecessor. "My men call me the Tattered Prince. I command the Windblown. Though it is a true honour to stand before a true prince! Please, forgive me, Your Grace! These are my most trusted men, Ser Tim Stone and Ser Garibald of the Greenblood" he said with a false booming laugh. Much of this mummery still chafes me. I wish Gerris were here, but he's off wooing Spotted Sylva. 

"I did not no that there was another prince here other than my brother. I'm Jon Snow, there's no need to bow" he said with a small smile and a jest. Snow? Why would he still call himself Snow now that he was a prince? 

"Why do you still call yourself Snow instead of Jon Targaryen?" Tim asked. Great, he asked my question for me. 

"I may be a prince now, and i may have been born one, but I was raised a bastard. For the good of me. I don't feel all that different, truly. I still feel like Jon Snow. And I ought to remember that I was Jon Snow before anything else." he said, Honest, he is. Not like I. How much longer must I be a mummer? In spite of his words, he is indeed a prince. I never was. 

"Did we fight beside another by any chance? Something about you seems ... rather familiar." Jon said with an inquisitive look. 

"For all I know, we might have. Though, like many, I was busy trying to fight and stay alive, my prince!" he said with surprising ease and a laugh. 

"True. Are you Dornish by any chance? I fought with several dornishmen by my side. Notably, Ser Daemon who's now in the Kingsguard." Jon said almost proudly. Does he know who I am? No, not possible. It was then he took note of the small group of young dornishmen and women just across from them talking. One he easily recognized as Gwyneth Yronwood, who was growing to be a beautiful maiden. The girl beside her looked to be one his younger cousins, Elia or Dorea, he could not tell. One was Lord Fowler's youngest son. One was a young stony dornishmen with his bright blond hair and dark blue eyes that almost looked purple. The other almost reminded him of himself as a boy with his straight black hair and olive skin. Trystane, he recognized. Would you remember me brother?

"They are indeed the future. And the reason why many had given their lives. So that they could live. And know something better than the darkness that nearly covered us all," Jon said almost sadly. He must have lost someone beloved as well. Like a brother. Like I lost Cletus, who had been my brother in all but name. 

A comely young maiden then approached Jon. She was obviously a dornishwoman with her olive skin and dark eyes. Arianne! You've grown as beautiful as you wanted to be, sister. 

"Jon, you must come. Your royal family has been calling for you. You can talk to thi - " Arianne said before staring almost darkly at him. Do you hate me, sister? But that look seemed to turn into something else. Pity?

"Of course, we mustn't keep them waiting. it's Aegon's least favoured activity and word. I hope we may speak again, my prince!" Jon said with a mock bow.

The next time we may speak, we might be brothers. I'd be honoured to do so.


	164. Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys truly is the Conqueror reborn with her two handsome consorts

She found herself breathing heavily. The others were breathing heavily as well. All of them together were a tangled mess of loose sweaty limbs. Her beloved husbands. 

It was strange but almost fitting. Many had commented that she was much like Aegon the Conqueror reborn. Aegon the Dragon with teats, as Tyrion once commented when he had been deep in his cups. It became harder not to think of herself and the situation like that. 

Aegon may have been named for their ancestor, but he was by no means a true Aegon. Only when he needed to be, when it suited him, He was a classic Valyrian beauty as she was with silver-gold hair and deep purple eyes. His figure no longer lanky; shoulders broader, arms more muscular and a stomach flat as a board. His hair was now more of a long mane and was often clean-shaven with neither beard of mustache. He was ever really serious. If anything, he was her own Rhaenys; playful, curious, impulsive, and given to flights of fancy, with a great deal of mischievousness. He loved to laugh and to smile, often wanting to throw a feast for a small or a grand occasion. Aegon's love of music and dancing was quite known. 

If that made him the Rhaenys to her Aegon, there was no doubt in her mind that Jon was her Visenya. He did not grow up a prince, but was almost raised as one with all the education that was befitting a lord's son. Even if he had been raised a bastard. He could be considered a more austerely handsome prince to Aegon. He disliked court and much of the festivities that Aegon often liked to hold. And he was more comfortable in armor or riding britches than the livery that had been gifted to him, His face often a cool mask of ice, but it hid well the fiery passion he held. But he was also stern, serious, and unforgiving toward many. But yet, he was as much more of an Aegon than his brother. Jon had been harsh with those who had openly defied him, yet he was surprisingly generous to those that bent the knee. A natural charisma underneath his fierce commanding presence. 

Jon and Aegon are as different as night and day. Aegon more often the light to Jon's brooding darkness. Aegon was quite broad now while Jon was more lean and lithe. Aegon smiled and laughed more than Jon, but Jon's smiles were a rarity and a beauty when he allowed himself to be. Aegon was taught the Faith but was not particularly kept with them, while Jon followed the Old Gods of the North. Aegon far too flippant and Jon more prudent and pragmatic. Jon came to wield Dark Sister while Blackfyre was always by Aegon's side. Aegon beloved and Jon respected and even feared. Aegon bore the crown of the Jaehaerys I the Conciliator - the simple gold band with seven different colored stones inset, whereas Jon had taken to wear the crown of Maekar I - with it's black iron and gold, with sharp points. One symbolizing peace and unity while the other one symbolized war and strength.

Yet, when they're in bed with her, they act like two boys refusing to share a toy they like. Aegon often pawing at her teats while Jon tries to taste her cunt. It comes to boggle her mind at times just whom did she marry out of duty and whom of desire. She certainly desired both of her husbands. Aegon was often too fast for her liking, and if often felt as if Jon would go about it forever with the pace he takes. Aegon preferred to have her mouth on his cock while Jon often pumped himself into her arse.

Did the Conqueror suffer such headaches when he took the Seven Kingdoms and his wives? But none of it matters in the end, when they all but declare a war for her. 


	165. Of Fathers and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned decides to tell Jon of his mother, and his heritage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired from that one Man of Steel scene I liked

He felt himself choke back with tears as Jon stared at him. His questions still ringing in his ears. 

"Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Does she even care?"

If only you really knew, my boy. The image of his dying sister with a babe in her arms still bore bright into his mind til this day. 

"Promise me, Ned. Promise me!"

And he had promised. And he had always kept his promises. And he had promised to tell Jon of her when he was older. Each year the boy would ask him about his mother, and each year he would give the same answer. "I promise i will tell you, when you are older." But he would be going off to King's Landing soon enough to be Robert's hand. Starks have never lived long in the South, we're not meant for it. 

He then looked to Jon. He saw so much of himself in the lad. But there was also much of Lyanna in him too; from his curly dark hair to how his lips would pout when he was upset to their shared laugh. But there was also much of his little brother Ben in him, the way he would often run amok Winterfell with Robb or with Arya. And Brandon; they shared the same natural talent with swords and horses but was more generous than his brother tried to be. Though, he saw little of Rhaegar in him as well with the way he broods, though he might just have gotten it from me. 

"Come with me to the crypts. It's time you knew."

Jon's eyes then lit up, a boyish grin on his face. Just like you, Lya. 

As he walked down, he could feel just how anxious Jon was getting. He felt the same way too. As he walked, it started to feel as if the Starks of Old were judging him for bringing Jon here. He then came to them; the statues of his father, brother and his sister. 

"Why are we here?"

"So I can tell you about your mother. But first, do you remember what happened to our family?"

"Lady Lyanna had been betrothed to King Robert, when he was still Lord of Storm's End. But sometime after the Tournament at Harrenhal, Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped her. Your elder brother, Brandon, he went off to get Lady Lyanna back screaming for Prince Rhaegar to come out and meet him face to face. The Mad King had been displeased that his son was being threatened, and had him and his compatriots imprisoned, Lord Rickard came down to King's Landing to plead for his son, but the Mad King sought it fit to execute them both. Father and son dying within inches of one another. Brandon's compatriots soon followed. Shortly after, the Mad King had sent a raven to Lord Jon arryn, demanding that he send your's and Robert's heads to him, but instead he rose up in rebellion against him."

He was rather amazed and disheartened that Jon had heard and known that to heart. Most men had given Jon Arryn little to no credit for what he had done in the war. Most men had simply stated that Robert was so enraged that he instigated the notion of rebelling against the kingdoms all himself.

"Yes, Jon. That is certainly part of it, but not all of it. No one ever tells you just how brutal war can be. You can and will certainly bring honour and glory to your house, at the cost of your own honour at times. It's almost like being in the Seven Hells."

"Father. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand, or try to understand as I tried to. But not all of it was true. And Lyanna was certainly more important than Robert or Jon Arryn or me. I didn't know how much and what was going on with Rhaegar Targaryen. Or with Lyanna."

"What do you mean?"

Ned then took a large breath and breathed a heavy sigh. "Because, as much as I'd like to be, I am not your father Jon"

Jon then looked at him as if he had been stabbed in the gut. "Wh - No, nonono!" 

He then quickly moved to grab him by his shoulders and put him in a crushing bear-hug."I promised to protect you, no matter what. I know that she were alive, she would love you with all your heart!"

"B-B-B-Bu-Bu-But Rha-Rhae-Rhaegar ... he ... he ..."

"That doesn't matter. Targaryen, Waters. You are a Stark. If not by name, surely by blood."

"I really am a bastard then ..."

This was a terrible thing to have done. But this cannot be undone. Please forgive me, Lya. He then turned to her effigy and slowly began to push it back. The moment he took out the cloak, Jon's face became more squeamish. 

"You were meant to be more than "just a lord" or "just a bastard". It may have been the one kindness Rhaegar had done." 

Jon then took the wedding cloak into his arms. Staring at it blankly. Oh, my boy. I never wanted this for you. But I could not hide it forever. Lya ... 

"I ... should never have asked you this."

Ned could only bow his head down as his face felt numb to the bone. 

"Why couldn't I just stay your son?"

"You are my son!" he said, pulling him close again. "Because, if you were my son, trueborn or not, i'd be mighty proud of you! You are a Stark." 

You are not a lone wolf, my boy. You are part of a pack. And don't ever let anyone tell you anything less. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Jon needed to hear it. But now was not a time for words. Yet, as always, Jon seemed to understand that the silence was enough for now.


	166. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although he is no wolf, she made him part of her pack.

It was good land to have. The Moat was considered the key of the North in its way. One of its main defenses after the crannogmen. It commands the causeway, the safe route for armies to travel through the swamps of the Neck, and an effective natural choke point which has protected the north from southron invasion for thousands of years. When he first came upon it, it was little more than a ruin with only great blocks of black basalt lay scattered about, half sunk in the ground where the wall once stood, and the keep rotted away. 

Now it's as great as it once was, with twenty towers, a wooden keep, and a great basalt curtain wall as high as that of Winterfell's. Much left over material from the castles of the Wall and the Dreadfort that hadn't been used to reconstruct Winterfell was used to rebuild the Moat. The fact that he had helped in it's reconstruction made it more wondrous. Not once did he ever think of having a keep of his own. All he ever wanted was to be in service to a decent lord at best. And when the opportunity came, to be a good knight. Not a legend to be revered, just a good knight. Now, he had all that and a wily but wonderful wife. 

She's no longer the willful girl that he had knew way back when. Some would say that she's frigid and cold as the North. Many had said that she would be likely to murder anyone with just a glance from her eyes that glistened like molten steel. But she had seen much as any man or child would care to see. She was less so when she was with him. She was still wily, and more than often calling him stupid, but that usually ended with a bruised shoulder and a deep kiss. A true lady of winter and the North. 

Arya took her role as the Stark of Moat Cailin as serious as can be. Mayhaps because of it, she found herself drawn and friendly to Lady Meera. Both of them were quite similar. They had seen much that no one should or would ever understand and lost loved ones. And surprisingly enough, fell in love with bastard boys. Lady Reed had taken the young ironborn squire, Wex Pyke as her lord husband and no one paid any mind to it. Wex had proved his valor many times over in what many called the War of Winter. 

Though he could not talk, they seemed to understand each other in a way. He could tell that he felt the same way about his wife as he did about Arya; I don't deserve her. Bastards are the dirt beneath the feet of many lords and ladies. Undeserving of anything they could ever wish or want. But she never made him feel like that once or ever. They weren't the bastard and the lady when they were together, even when they were young. They were just Arya and Gendry. A lost wolf girl and a stupid bull. 

But I'm not a stupid bull. Not anymore. I'm Gendry Stark, Lord of Moat Cailin. A wolf now, truly. And I'll do as all wolves do; protect their pack. No matter what. 


	167. Seven Blessings (Dacey/SmallJon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They decide that they don't want to wait any longer and ask their king to bless their marriage

This had come to be quite the surprise. He had often japed and drank with them. But he not once expected this. 

When they had first came to him, he had half expected this to be another jape from them. But he was not completely stupid. He had seen them laugh and jape together, but there always seemed to be a look of longing between them. Although, if he were honest, he may have imagined it. 

Although, they do seem to make a lovely couple. And they compliment each other quite well. Dacey being a woman who finds herself at ease in a lady's garb or in leather armor. Quick, elegant and deadly with either a dress and a song, or armor and a blade in hand. SmallJon was as tall as his father in spite of his moniker, and seems like he would continue to become taller. And just as strongly built. They always seemed to be fighting together and enjoyed it a bit too much for his comfort. Although, that seemed to clear the air about it. 

It must be strangely terrifying and exhilarating having someone fight beside you in the field of battle. They clearly have experience in such matters. He almost doesn't want to think about it. Whether it was a lover or lady wife of his, or if it was his beloved sister Arya all but demanding to do so. 

_I am their king. It would be rude of me to refuse such a request. Especially to such brave and loyal bannerman._

The ceremony is small but lovely all the same. Dacey looked as elegant as expected to be in her wedding gown. SmallJon looked surprisingly nervous for once. He had never seen any of the great giants of House Umber cower, especially for a lady. Unless the lady in question happened to be a buxom serving wench. it might have been the most endearing thing ever. Once the lords called for the bedding ceremony, he thought it was best to forgo it, as he had high doubts that Dacey was a blushing maid of any kind.With the men trying to remove Dacey from her dress down to her smallclothes, it was then he truly saw the roaring giant of House Umber. 

But Dacey simply laughed it off. "It appears that my lord husband is the Lady Fair instead of I!" 

"The Bear! THE BEAR!!" everyone gleefully shouted. 

Let them have this one bit of happiness. We all need it.


	168. The Iron Seas (Asha/Aurane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, they are the king and queen of the seven seas

He's quite a pretty man, her new lover. Handsome and thin, with silver-gold hair and grey-green eyes. A cleft in his chin and wisp of a beard. Fairly worthy; worthy enough to be her consort. He almost reminds her of the Lyseni sailor who had delightfully taken her maidenhead. 

Roguish as any sellsail she had ever met, yet he's able to inspire such loyalty in the loathsome men he made into his crew. Quick of wit and quick with a blade as well. Often a cocky smirk or grin adorning his handsome face. Some of the older men had called him Rhaegar Targaryen reborn a rogue. 

She had only ever heard tales of the famed Silver Prince's beauty. If Aurane had a sliver of his beauty, she was grateful for it. Many had also claimed that he was as soft as Rhaegar Targaryen as well. Aurane was certainly not a musician like the ever-famed Silver Prince, but she did understand what they meant in a way. 

He was surprisingly sweet and good with his younger half-brother, Monterys. She'd half thought him to be as conniving as any other sellsail or bastard, but he was not like that. He had great care for his sibling who was beginning to near manhood. There was a great deal of tenderness to him. Most of the time, they spent their time sailing and fucking hard and fast in their cabin. Yet, when she was in his arms, she felt more like a pirate queen then ever. 

The Kraken's Daughter and the Lord of the Waters. What a pair we are.


	169. Winter Roses (Robb/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery realizes just how much she loves Robb, when she sees him playing at swords with their children.

She watches over them, as she always has done. The training yard is always alive with sound. 

Her husband, the former King in the North, The Young Wolf, The Red Wolf is there training with the new guards. He's still as handsome as ever with his long auburn curls and piercing blue eyes. 

But when he still had his title, that was the reason she had been married to him shortly after Renly's death. Her father, and grandmother had hoped that she could steer him in the right direction in not only ending the war but to also take the Iron Throne. Foolish. All he wanted was to avenge his father and bring his sisters back home. Nothing more and nothing less. He wouldn't be the son of the famously honourable Ned Stark if he wanted the Iron Throne. He could have easily taken it after killing Joffrey. But he didn't. 

She had thought that she would suffer the same fate as Lynesse Hightower did. But this match is not a poor one, and she is not a spoiled whore. Robb was everything that Renly should have been. Handsome and charming but without the smarmy way he seemed to do it. Kind, caring, compassionate to his people in his household knowing of their comings and goings. What other lord would do that?

Many were quite angered when Robb had declared the war over and all but handed the crown over to Stannis Baratheon. Mostly her father, even though he all but agreed to the match. "You were made to be Queen, my daughter!" he all but whispered into her ear as he tried to have her marriage with Robb annulled and become Stannis' Queen. That was a stupd thing to do. Grandmother had been right as that would just make things worse for House Tyrell and that we would lose any allies we would hope to make. 

Things had been difficult to adjust to at first. But she was a Tyrell before a Stark, and they grow strong no matter what. Things in the North were so much more different than the south. A more simple folk; preferring straightforwardness and honesty rather than practiced honeyed courtesies. There was no time for such frivolities. 

Being truly and genuinely kind rather than playing the facade of it was strange. Stranger than not playing the game of thrones that she had been prepared for. Being the queen she had dreamed of being. But that dream became lost when she had seen what it had done to Cersei Lannister. Screeching at the top of her lungs to kill all the traitors. According to many noble and commonborn, she made the Mad King look sane compared to her mad ravings. But no one could say what had brought that on: being Robert Baratheon's queen, losing her son, or if that madness had been well buried beneath her false bright smiles and eyes that burned like wildfire. 

No one cared for her after she ranted and raved that she would have her revenge. There were rumours that she would have tried to seduce Stannis Baratheon in hope of remaining queen, but they were just rumors. Stannis had either killed her with the help of his Red Witch or she had taken her life with Tears of Lys that had remained hidden in her dress. No one had been able to confirm. 

She had heard that Stannis had married his daughter to the young lord of the Vale but had taken several hostages in recompense for them not declaring for him; even though Lady Lysa was more to blame. With Tommen being spared and sent to us up North to be properly raised as a man, the young Dornish prince Trystane vowed that he loved the former princess Myrcella and vowed to marry her.

The gossip was nice to hear from the south. It helped her bare the North with each passing day. All she ever heard of it was how cold and dreary it was, that it was so lifeless that the only thing of excitement was fighting any raiding wildling parties. But the same could be said of the Vale as well. But the North was undoubtedly beautiful in it's own way. It was much like how her septa told her to find a man's beauty within and without. 

It made her think of and look back to Robb. He was everything that anyone could expect of an heir to a Great House. While he certainly favors the Tully's in colouring, he was undoubtedly a Stark. Not just in how honour and duty were important to him, but just how fierce and protective of his loved ones he is. She had never met Ned Stark but she wishes she could have to tell him that he raised a fine man. 

There were some men who had commented that he resembled his late Uncle Brandon, the infamous Wild Wolf of the previous pack of Starks. That had gotten her rather curious, and so she had asked Robb to take her the crypts. Not just to see just how handsome his late uncle was and see if Robb was just as if not more handsome but to also pay her respects to the late Starks. After all, she is one now. As she came down there, she felt strange and even more out of place. 

She stared for what felt like hours at both of the effigies. At first glance, it did seem like it. Lord Brandon was undoubtedly taller than Lord Eddard. Broader and wider rather than lean as his lordly brother and nephew are. He was as long faced and lantern-jawed as the Starks are, but his jaw was as wide and heavy-looking as an anvil and a bare snub of a nose rather than the straight one that Lord Eddard and Robb have. He was said to have been a very wild and impatient man taking what he wanted. At times, she had seen Robb lose his temper, but mostly out of frustration and it made her look more like his impetuous uncle Edmure that she had seen marry the Frey girl that Robb was originally promised to marry. It made her think if anyone _really_ looked at the brothers Stark of past. One could easily say that Lord Eddard was the more handsome brother in spite of his grimness. 

Mayhaps it was because of that, it made her appreciate her husband more. If he really were like his impetuous uncle Edmure or his infamously wild uncle, she would be worrying every day if he would stray from her bed if he ever got bored with her. But he never gave any notion that he disliked her, thought her stupid or anything else. He firmly appreciated her. He cares for me. He allows me to attend his council meetings and manage his household more often than him. 

The North has changed me. For the better? The worse? It's hard to tell. I have helped improve the North with the increased amount of trade and the recent mining expositions that had been conducted with the help of the northern lords. They did not state that they were displeased by this, but they never stated their gratitude of it. This is what makes them hard; their wariness of strangers, the South. 

Robb was like that at first. But she saw just how beautiful he was. Not just handsome and charming and as charismatic as a true leader. In time, he began to give me his heart, and I the same. When I told him that I was with child, he smiled. Not the small faint one he had given that would make any maiden's knees go weak. But a true smile, filled to the brim with joy. My heart all but stopped. The birth was painful but getting to see that smile again made it all worth it. 

A little girl followed by a boy. Calla and Edmyn quickly became his pride and joy. Never dissatisfied nor showing favoritism to any of them. Absolutely doting on them alongside their grandmother, Lady Catelyn, who vowed not to marry anyone else. Theon Greyjoy has come more often with his wife Jeyne and his son Damon to teach all the children the finer points of archery. Their Uncle Gendry has promised to teach Edmyn to wield a warhammer properly and their Aunt Arya has also promised to show them to truly be brave and fight. Their aunt Sansa had promised to take every one of them to Dorne to visit her home. The new king and queen vowed to visit soon enough. And she had also heard that Tommen may be plotting to win Beth Cassel's heart. 

The war had taken much away from all of them. But they had gained something back at the very least. And mayhaps it's because of that, it make her heart break as to what she's seeing. 

Robb had made mention that war was not a game, and something that was not easy in spite of his prowess and victories. Mayhaps that is why he is showing our daughter how to handle a blade. Does he believe that everyone should be trained now that the wars were done. 

But it is a game this time. He's showing Calla and Edmyn how to grip the blade, yet they're charging at him without a care in the world. She half-expected him to scold them. But instead, he's laughing heartily alongside them. He then playfully grabs his heart as if Calla had struck him down. Rather than gloat on her victory, like the good sweet girl she is, she runs to her father worried. He then grabs her and rolls in the snow with her. 

"Now, I have you, my lady!! ARRGHH!!"

Edmyn then puffs his chest up and yells out a war cry. Both father and son sparring so carefree. 

Robb Stark, how is it you do this to me? I slowly fell for you when we were young and foolish. Now, I fall for you all over once again. That damned stupid smile of yours. But the world should not be deprived of it. For it's a great and beautiful thing. And I hope to see it once again when I tell you about the new pup set to come into this world. We'll have a proper pack of wolves soon enough.


	170. In Memoriam (Domeric/Wynafryd)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North remembers. The North remembers everything.

It was strange to look at him. Ramsay Bolton. No. Snow. His name is Ramsay Snow, no matter what. 

Looking at him just brought the faint memories of his late brother back to her head and filled her heart with sorrow. Domeric should have been Lord of the Dreadfort. He would have been a good lord; a better lord than his cold father and depraved half-brother. He was not like any other Boltons. 

The Boltons were famed for the ancient practice of flaying and their infamously cold eyes. Paler than stone and darker than milk strange like two white moons or two chips of dirty eyes. Dom only had small flecks of that colour in his eyes. His eyes were a rich hazel. Bright and warm like his smile and the songs he loved to sing and play on his harp. 

She had spent much time with the young heir and had hoped that her father and grandfather would ask Lord Roose about the possibility of a betrothal. Lord Bolton had not written back. At that time, he had been slain. Supposedly by his depraved brother. Some rumours were heard that Lord Bolton had slain his own son by accident. Roose Bolton may be cold but he was no kinslayer. 

He was undoubtedly handsome. His dark brown curls reaching his shoulders and neatly framing his face. His almost boyish smile. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him. But he was just a memory. 

Now, here was his half-brother. Their father was plain, Domeric was undoubtedly handsome, but Ramsay was as ugly as the Bolton's truly are in nature. His face was matted with dried blood. Breathing heavily. His wide, meaty, wormy looking lips were split. His pink blotchy skin was red and beaten. 

Had it not been for the efforts of their new King in the North Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon, they wouldn't have gotten rid of the Leech Lord and his pet weasels. The North remembers. The North remembers. 

As of this moment, she was glad for Jon Snow. Glad that this had been allowed. This was not to be for the faint of heart. 

"For the North!!" she and Wylla shouted. But this wasn't just justice for the North. Justice for the Starks. Justice for all the lost Northmen who had been sent to the slaughter by the Boltons. For Lady Barbrey, who was key to their victory. For Domeric. For the life that could have been but never did. 

For once, Ramsay was truly a part of the Bolton's accursed legacy. Garthe the gaoler for House Manderly had taken his beloved flaying knife from him and had begun his arduous torture of the "heir to the Dreadfort". 

The North remembers, you monster. The North remembers.


	171. Of Innocents and Vixens (Jon/Tyene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the boyfriends and girlfriends and general relationships Jon's ever had, Ned thinks he likes sweet innocent Tyene best. That is, until he catches them having sex in his kitchen.

She seemed like an honest woman for the most part. He had trusted that Jon had good and sound judgement. He was a bit wary that she was a bit older than Jon. But they seemed to make a lovely couple. 

Jon did have a habit of choosing some rather ... unsavory women. Asha Greyjoy being the primary one that he could think of at the moment. She was far too abrasive for anyone's liking. Arya had barely even liked her and Theon had completely objected to Jon being with his sister. Although, it's likely that he thought Robb would pursue her. He once had that dream with his sister Lyanna and his closest friend Robert. 

Tyene seemed to have come from good stock as well. She was apparently Jon Arryn's grandniece. Although, he should have counted the fact that her father was the infamous Red Viper; Oberyn Martell. The Dornish are a crazy lot, Robert once told him. I'm all too aware; I fell in love with a dornishwoman. 

He should have realized it. Ashara could easily pass herself as an innocent little maiden and then show just how mischievous she could be. So willful and wily. I really should have suspected something. Or else, I wouldn't have been so damn surprised when I came home. 

Both of them pressed against the cupboards while going at it like two wild animals in heat. Jon had the decency to look ashamed and tried to hide himself in the crook of Tyene's shoulder. Tyene herself just held a small grin while sheepishly saying "Uh, um, Hi, Mr. Stark!"

What am I to say about this? I still remember when I got caught in the same situation. With Ashara and later Catelyn. "By the Gods, Ned! We eat in here!!" he could still remember his brother Benjen crying out. And then he remembered his father's words. 

And those were the same words he decided to tell his son, who was easily expecting and anticipating a scolding. 

"Next time Jon, go to your room and lock it. There's a reason why we have locks in the first place."

Jon just looked at him dumbfoundedly, and then mumbled, "Yes, Father."

Oh, this may not end well. 


	172. Forging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships don't just happen within the span of a minute. Sometimes, the greatest ones take time and it's often that those end up just as, if not stronger than others.

Cursed pretty boy. His hair was collar-length and thick, divided by a streak of midnight black now matted and messy with blood and sweat. His dark angry eyes still shining splendidly in spite of how dead they were. The cut from his head was still spewing blood but less so than before. 

His thoughts then came about the Brotherhood. Thoros had strongly insisted that he go with Edrick, Anguy and the others willing to go with them. "There's not much left here for you, lad", he remembered the priest's sad words. How he missed them so. Thoros' japes, Pello and Lem''s constant berating and bashing as they trained him, Tom's ever-teasing songs, Harwin's tales of the North. And Lord Beric. Beric who I owe everything to. Edrick too, I guess. 

After carrying his body all the way to Blackhaven, they had decided to go to Lord Edrick's home of Starfall to recover for a while. The moment they got there, the maester had welcomed his lord and informed him that his infernal cousin, the Darkstar, had all but kidnapped his aunt Allyria; Lord Beric's betrothed. 

We recovered quick enough and went off to the Darkstar's home of High Hermitage. It was different from Lord Edrick's castle of Starfall. The stone was red instead of pale white. A red so dark it almost looked as if it were bathed in blood. The man had all but expected them to come. It was a trap; to kill the Lord of Starfall and stake his own claim on it through a marriage to his aunt.

It sounded almost like some kind of story that children heard when they were still at their mother's teats. But Darkstar was not an easy man to capture or defeat. He was deathly quick and agile. He practically lived up to his moniker; disappearing as quickly as a star in the dark sky. 

Foolishly, he went in after him. Fighting common brigands and thieves were different from fighting a proper knight. I'm still a boy truth be told. I hadn't fought in any great battles. He had been fast enough to avoid getting stabbed but not fast enough to avoid getting hurt. Cuts on his arm and a sharp graze by his shoulder, nearing his neck. 

As he landed on the ground, nearly prepared to get stabbed by that mad dornishmen, Lord Edrick suddenly came, slashing his leg, distracting him. The next thought ... there was no next thought. All he knew was that he would die, and he needed to do something. Almost blindly, his hand grabbed the nearest sword and he swung. After that, the Darkstar was lying on the ground, bleeding from his head.

Anguy had found Lady Allyria in the bedchambers, nearly frightened. Although, she seemed prepared to do something with the way her hand gripped onto a dagger. She stared blankly at Darkstar's broken body before suddenly ordering the maester of High Hermitage to tend to the wounded, which included Lord Edrick and himself. Although, like him, Lord Edrick had a small cut on his arm and what looked to be a scrape on his leg. Anguy was a bit more worse for wear, practically needing his whole belly stitched up.

It felt stupid just laying on the bed. He didn't feel all that wounded until the maester pointed out that had the cut by his shoulder been closer or deeper, I might be dead. Just a precaution, he said, but he could also tell that he feared Lady Allyria from the way she leered at him. She's a good sort, asking the lot of us how we were faring. Lovely, undoubtedly lovely. For even a second, she made every one feel as if we were all true knights or even proper lordlings. And she often eyed him strangely, that had his stomach tied in knots. Though, he could just be imagining things. Or the maester gave me milk of the poppy.

"Gendry? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, m'lord."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What? You're not a lord?"

"Just because I am a lord doesn't mean that I like being called that. I've been called my lord or m'lord since I reached my tenth nameday. It still sounds so strange to me."

Not once did he think of that. All he ever thought of him was an uppity boy lordling. It never occurred to him that he may not like it. 

"What about you? The moment you got knighted, I thought you'd insist that everyone address you as Ser Gendry?"

"I still don't feel like a real and proper ser. I honestly don't feel like I've earned it."

He felt Edrick's eyes pierce into him, understanding him in a way that ... Arya understood him. 

"Lord Beric wouldn't have just knighted on you on a whim without reason. He saw something in you. Not just your strength!"

"Did you wish that he had knighted you first?"

"Honestly? Yes. To be honest, I was a bit jealous of you, because Beric had knighted you before me. I lived and served with him for a long time." 

He barely even gave that a thought. Great, I really am no better than those knights who passed me by in the Street of Steel. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"S'alright. Although, you're on your way to being a true knight, Gendry. I know you are."

"Thanks, m'lor - ... Edrick."

"We've fought together and traveled for a long time now. Please, call me Ned, Gendry!"

"Only if you don't call me Ser!"


	173. Desert Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark girls living in Dorne, adjusting to life there along with their husbands.

It was strange no longer being in the North. But Dorne had suffered the least amount of casualties. Their strategy may have been considered to have been cowardly by the other kingdoms, but that didn't mean that they were stupid. Well, Prince Doran at least. They may have considered him no true dornishman, but he was certainly a wise one. 

Trystane is like his father in that way. Wise beyond his years underneath his stoic quietude which also strangely enough, reminded her of her own father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. When she had first met him, she thought him an idiot. Especially since that he had been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, whom she hated at the time for looking so much like her accursed mother. 

So much had happened in the Great War, as many people called it. The Second Long Night, The Dark War. 

Myrcella had been promised to Trystane, when she was still a princess. After things had come to light, she found herself feeling unworthy of him, in spite of his and his family's protests. She managed to find a good match in the new Lord Marbrand's son, Tygett. She had often received letters from them both, with Trystane's responses being more cordial. Maybe it was because of this, the Martell's and the Lannister's had gotten the match they wanted, but not in Cella and Trys' union. Surprisingly, her brother Tommen had found himself taken up with one of the younger Sand Snakes; Dorea. 

It seemed to be a strange match, but they like each other enough and stranger matches had been made. Like Shireen being married to the newly minted Ser Devan Seaworth and her brother Rickon and Lady Lyanna Mormont. Gendry had been rising high with his new wife as the head of House Heddle. The new Lord Baratheon Edric had taken up with a young Tyrell. Things had changed so much. 

There was no great love between her and husband. No children in spite being married for two years. But there was no need for that. They had more than enough fun taking care of the Black Princes; Princess Arianne's triplet sons that she had when the Blackfyre had made his initial plan to marry her. No one had dared to dispute it. In a strange and perverse way, the Blackfyre's had gotten what they wanted; a home and a proper title. Lucos was the youngest and easiest to handle of the three. Garin and Aegor were the more rambunctious and wild of them all; more often shouting with glee that they were dragons and bowed to no one. 

"They truly are unbowed, unbent and unbroken!" Trys had said with a chuckle. Though Arianne was still beautiful, motherhood was clearly taking its toll on her. And she was nowhere without any young lord or knight vying for her favour and hand in marriage. Although, she likely wants another night with her brother Jon. She wasn't that stupid, nor was anyone else. Tom and his wife had been the first to comment on how loud they were, to which it actually made the Princess of Dorne blush.

It was strange looking at him and thinking of him as her husband. Her mother and father, Eddard and Catelyn Stark, looked and acted as much as a mother and father as they did as a lord and lady of Winterfell. It was different with Trys. They weren't like Edrick and Sansa, who doted on one another at each possible moment. They were friends. Good friends, some might even say best friends. More often then not, they had sparred more often than giving each other a kiss. He is quite skilled in learning the Water Dance, with many lords and ladies commenting that he is swift and deadly as his famed uncle, Oberyn Martell the Red Viper. 

Looking at her sister and her friend, it made her ask just how she did it. She isn't sure if she'll ever really love Trys, but their betrothal and marriages had been made so fast it felt like seconds rather than 3 moon turns. She was doubtful that Sansa would even come to love Edrick Dayne. And yet, the icy mask that her sister made had all but melted when the two had wed and brought to Starfall. 

None of it had been easy for either one of them. She never expected or wanted to be a princess, yet she was one. Something that Sansa had wanted nearly all of her life yet a title that was now claimed by her. A title, that she no longer cared for. 

"It seems to suit you more than it ever would on me." she said, almost sadly. This lady, this woman, so different from the dreamy little girl who had often said that the best match for her was Hodor the dim-witted stableboy. As much as she loves the women they both are, she sometimes wishes that they were still the same stupid girls fighting over the most silly stupid things. Yet, they are as closer as any one from the North could have hoped for. 

More often than not, she and Trys find themselves staying at Starfall rather than Sunspear. She spending time with her sister, simply talking with her about the servants and weary travelers finding their way to her home while she gently rubs her growing belly. Edrick and Trys often sparring and jesting with one another; renewing the friendship they once had when they were little more than babes in arms.

They may not be in the North anymore, but they were still a pack. They are still wolves.


	174. Of Isles and Pines (Theon/Dacey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: During their time shared in Robb's war camp Dacey Mormont and Theon Greyjoy start up a relationship. Everything comes to a head when he returns home and must make a decision; align with his family by blood, or the family he has and the one he could have.

Dacey Mormont is certainly not some shivering maiden. She is a woman through and through, one equally comfortable on the battlefield as in the bedroom. It had been quite the sight to behold, the famed woman warrior from Bear Island staying naked before him, licking her lips as if he had been a peace of meat on the market.

He felt himself liking how she pushed him down onto the bed instead of the other way around, felt himself liking how she bit him and fought with him for dominance as he entered her, grunting and moaning. The night was a daze in his head, a mixture of pleasure and pain and some bruises and oh so sweet desire.

She had not asked anything of him and he did not anything of her and when she left his tent the next morning she just says: "I'll see you in Lord Stark's command tent."

It's something he should be getting used to, considering that they have lain together many times and neither one has asked the other for anything other than a good romp. But there is something there. They don't say but they recognize it. Small things, such as a smile or a short stare at each other. Sometimes, he likes the staring the most. Not just because she either wants a romp in a nearby bush or an empty tent, but just having the feeling of being truly wanted. 

Challenging. It's challenging. It's not like being with a whore. Whores moan and groan in pleasure not because you're good at it but because they're paid to do it. It's almost enticing to hear her and have her beneath or on top of him. There's always been bad blood between the ironborn and House Mormont. But, mayhaps we can bring about a change in that. Maybe even gain a new seat in Sea Dragon's Point or the abandoned Wolfscreek Castle. 

I could certainly make something out of Wolfscreek Castle. It's naturally protected from the most sides by the seemingly never-ending waters of the Blazewater Bay and additionally by thin curtain walls, but the rampart guarding its entrance from the east is a massive bulk of dark granite, majestic and troublesome. Its inner keep, with most of its colorful windows facing to the sea, hails more than ten broad towers and smaller turrets, pressed together on the small spot at the tip of the sword-like cliff. The highest one is called the Tower of Shivers. It used to be held by some minor northern house until they had dealt with Starks of old, and Lord Eddard had made mention of raising up some lords to take up residence in the keeps that the Starks of Old had taken from previous minor lords. It could be my new home. ... Our home. 

When he came to her with the idea, of marrying her and occupying the castle, she had simply accepted the proposal with a rather calm expression. So unlike the liveliness he had seen of her. He knew that she was no blushing maiden, yet it came up unexpected. Did she just see this as some kind of deal?

That was until she gave him a rather comforting hug. "Don't expect me to sew with other ladies and fret when you're coming home from a hunt, 'cause I'll be going with ya. Aaand, if you decide to have a whore or two, just remember that I can wring your balls from your mouth, my squid!"

He hated that he called her that. It started from a jape made by Patrek Mallister; who had drunkenly called him Ser Squid. Soon enough, all the lords, ladies and some common soldiers were willing to call him that Ser Squid. But, he liked the way she said it. 

It was strange desiring only one woman. Even as the captain's daughter had all but offered herself to him, he found himself saying no to her. Not that she wasn't comely enough; mayhaps a bit plump to his liking with splotchy skin like oatmeal.but had fine dark hair and heavy breasts. Though, that barely lasted and he had bedded her for near an entire day in every which way without the captain knowing. Yet, he couldn't stop thinking about Dacey every time he pumped his seed into the wench. Her threat to him didn't ring heavy, instead he found himself thinking of the small faint scars he would trace on her flat stomach. Even as she asks to be his saltwife, he still finds himself telling her "No". Is this what a woman's love does to a man? Have I become weaker? Am I not Ironborn?

Those thoughts creep into his head as his father keeps making his comments and remarks on how much of a greenlander he is. Stupid old man. He'd gain a lot more in allying with Robb and raiding the westerlands. Take all their gold and crops; they won't care about winter. Mighty Tywin thinks he can avoid anything with the right amount of gold. 

"I have no other family!" he had told his sister. He didn't know what to feel about that. He thought of his older brother's cruel japes, their drunken cuffs, their compulsive lies. "True Ironborn sons!" he suddenly remembered his father always commenting them on their prowess. "I have no use for sniveling little runts like you, boy!" He remembered the japes his uncle Aeron had made before he had become the dour Damphair of now. He remembered his uncle Victarion trying to show him the finger dance before his lady mother found out.

Mother. She and Asha may be the few good things to have come from the Iron Islands. How he would try to keep up with Asha in their games, and how his mother would sing him sweet songs as he drifted off to bed. Oh, and uncle Dagmer. How could I forget about the man who taught me in arms, riding, and boatmanship. He smiled more for me than his own father or Ned Stark did. 

The Starks. He doesn't know what he is to them now. No longer a ward or hostage to be used. I'm a man grown. Robb had been the brother he always wanted. He told them that Ned Stark was like a gaoler, but that wasn't true. He didn't treat him all that different from any of his children. Sansa. In his younger days, he thought that Lord Stark would marry him to her to make him his son in true. She had become a pretty little thing too, becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day, and likely ripe for bedding now. But she's a thousand leagues away in the clutches of the Lannisters. How often did he play the monster in his games with Robb and Jon, and wanted to be her knight instead? Arya; fierce little thing she was, always following them. Trying to catch up and prove herself just as able as any man. He had often seen her take and had tried to show her how to properly use his bow. There was no doubt she was good. She'd be a terror in marriage and the battlefield. Bran and Rickon; Bran was more earnest and tried to keep up to all of them, while Rickon did the same, looking more like a lost puppy. Bran often struggled to keep up while he had the sense that Rickon could grow to be a true leader of men with how ecstatic he was in everything. Lady Catelyn at times had often reminded him of what he remembered of his mother but more often colder than Ned Stark with how her eyes narrowed at him. Snow. He often ignored the sullen boy, but now he can't help but think about him now. Robb's constant shadow and equal in nearly every which way. Is he truly happy at the Wall? He could be here with us, taking all the glory and avenging his lord father. Mayhaps even find himself a woman like he had. Dacey does have some younger sisters, mayhaps he would take a liking to one of them. Though, it would be strange calling him brother.

Dacey. Dacey, with her long and lanky features. Comfortable with mail or dress. Her hair almost windswept and her laugh and smile. His heart was fluttering. "I have no other family!". I could have one. She didn't say the words, and she didn't seem disgusted but he could hear them all the same. She spoke little of her sisters other that they're just as able warriors as she and her mother. Although, with the way she talked of her younger sister, it sounded like she would get along fine with Arya. 

Greyjoy or Stark? The gold price or the iron price? The Iron Isles and Pyke, or the North and Winterfell? It was then that he made a decision. 

He managed to recruit some Ironborn warriors when he met Dagmer by Lordsport, more than enough to aide him. Old Fishwiskers and his three sons, a mute squire by the name of Wex Pyke, Gevin Harlaw and a few others. 

_Damn you, Balon Greyjoy. I'm going to help my brother defend his home from you. And my betrothed's._


	175. Of The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd expected his ghost to loom over them all. How wrong he had been.

It was strange being back in Winterfell. The last time he had been here, things had not been favourable for him. His father glowering at him with contempt, Ned's silent judgement, Ben's confused look, Catelyn's tears and Barbrey's present anger. 

He had never wanted to be the heir or lord of Winterfell. He was meant to ride, fight, drink and fuck. A cloak of the Night's Watch or the Kingsguard would not suit him well. A sellsword, mayhaps. There had been Stark sellswords; like Rodrik Stark the Wandering Wolf, who had joined the Second Sons. A wolf through and through, that's what I am. 

And yet, though a chance or fate, but mostly his pride and arrogance is what lead him to joining the Kingsguard. I would have replaced the Lannister boy had I had the chance to show those uppity southron lords how a true and proper northman holds his own. 

"Getting cold feet, Bran?" Lyanna had asked as she and her mount came close to him. His little nephew Jon, huddled up by her as she held the reins. 

"No. Not exactly, but I am nervous." he admitted as solemnly as Ned or King Rhaegar would. 

"Why would you be? You only left your brothers and wives back at Winterfell to rot." Lyanna said as blunt as her son's training sword. 

"Sh-Shut up!!" he all but roared at her. 

"Is that any way to address your Queen, Ser Brandon?" said Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. If there was one man who could make him feel like a little boy all over again, other than his father, it was the Old Ser. 

"I, uh, um, well, that is ..."

Lyanna then let out a loud barking laugh. "It's alright, my good ser. At the moment, I was speaking to my stupid brother, not the White Wolf of the Kingsguard!"

"As you wish, my queen." Ser Barristan said with a bow before heading off to the head of the pavilion with the other Kingsguard. 

"What's the worst that can happen? If I know them all like I do, they've likely gotten over the many slights you've put on them. Now, c'mon, Bran!" she said as she galloped off with little Jon whooping with glee. 

He remembered it all too well. Shortly after the Tourney at Harrenhal, his father and Lord Hoster had insisted that he wed Catelyn as soon as possible. It wasn't any bit fair. He knew that the tourney would be his last bit of fun, but he didn't expect to be tied down so soon. Almost immediately after, he and the pack had went off to Riverrun. Catelyn and her sister kept looking at him with wide eyes that made them look like their house's sigil. Little Edmure managed to bicker with Benjen on who was the better swordsman. Awfully gutsy for a boy of barely nine namedays to antagonize a boy of four-and-ten. Lyanna had tried to befriend the girls while Ned and his Arryn pet and Robert Baratheon had made nice with some of the attending riverlords; the Mallisters and the Blackwoods mostly. 

Before anything had happened. that sinewy little brat had challenged him to a duel for Catelyn's hand. Honour demanded that he accept the challenge, but he mostly did it because he felt sorry for the lad and wanted a fight. Catelyn all but begged him to spare him as he was barely a boy; close to Ben in age. In the end of it, it was barely a challenge and a waste of a life. The boy was persistent, but he was stronger, and had given him a backhanded stroke so severe that he had bled to death.

Everyone had been shocked to say the least. He had heard many lords call him a savage behind his back, Lysa howling in agony about the loss, little Edmure had turned mute, and Lord Hoster and the Blackfish had silently mourned the ward. It seemed almost insulting to have the wedding three days after the "duel". It was as festive as to be expected of southron weddings. Once the bedding came, he had to admit that he was eager, especially after everyone tore at her bodice and revealed her heavy bosom. But she seemed almost wary of him then, and so he had cleverly used a fork from a small food platter nearby and gave a small stab on his thigh to draw enough blood. She almost looked like she was about to blush until he opened his mouth. "Wouldn't want to be bedded by a savage now, would you, my lady?" She then looked more quiet and nodded almost dutifully. 

Things had gotten worse as they reached Winterfell. He just didn't want to do anything with her. It was her stupid father's fault that I got saddled with her. He had tried to pay attention to her, but she was just so boring. Not unlike the Lady Dayne, who stupidly said no to me and had said that Ned was better. How on Earth is Ned better than me? Even now, he probably can't talk to a woman who wasn't his lady wife!

Little than two moons later, Lord Rickard had offhandedly told him to get a child on his wife. Like she even wanted me to touch her! She barely knew how to act a proper northwoman but became as frigid as the North. Though she was friendly enough with Ned and Ben and Lya before she found herself married to the crown prince. When he had told her, she looked a bit ecstatic to say the least. Tight little thing, but little maiden's blood had come. She could have bedded either Ben or Ned but didn't care less in the end. Ben had little idea about it, and Ned likely wouldn't and probably didn't know where to put it. For nearly a year, he had bedded her and no child had come. 

His father and hers weren't exactly patient men, and with little prodding, managed to get her married off to Ned to keep their precious alliance intact, while he married Barbrey, who had patiently been waiting for him. Ned was now the heir while he was free. But the Old Gods had a strange sense of humor. Within three moons of their marriage, Catelyn announced that she was with child. There was little doubt that the child was Ned's, as some had suspected that he got her with child just before their marriage had been annulled. 

Years passed, and Ned and Catelyn already had a boy and a girl; Robb and Sansa Stark. Yet, nothing came about from his union with Barbrey. When it had been announced that Ser Gerold Hightower and Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne had passed, he quickly went off to Kings' landing to join the noble order. As much as he cared for Barbrey, he wasn't meant to be a married man or even a husband, despite the gods clearly not letting him. His father was enraged when he got his raven, but it was moot at that point. Though bound to another sort of duty, he was free. He could have argued that it was a greater duty to protect his sister, who was now the Queen, but he didn't have the energy to put the damn words in. 

When he came last, after hearing of Father's passing, he all but went off to Winterfell. Lya and some members of the royal party soon followed. The Pack had silently mourned him as his body was put into the crypts. No one had said or spoken a word. Ben must've been around Ned and Father more often than not; because they stared at him the way Father would when he was giving him a stern lecture on how to be a good lord of Winterfell. It gave him chills. Catelyn and Barbrey just glowered at him, both of their hands over their bellies, almost to protect their future children from him. They stayed for little more than a fortnight, and soon left, but their faces never left his head. Even now, they were burning. 

Right now, they were heading off to Winterfell to personally celebrate the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, and to see that Jon be fostered there. It would be good for him to know his mother's family. His older sister Rhaenys was being fostered at Sunspear, after Prince Oberyn had strongly insisted on it. And it would be good for him to know his cousins. 

The kingsguard stared at him almost expectantly to rush on out to the courtyard. The Blackfish had been glowering at him, almost the same as his niece had way back when. They had joined the Kingsguard together, and he never forgave him for humiliating Catelyn in annulling their marriage. Arthur did the same, as he knew he ruined the chance of his sister and his own brother being married off, knowing just how much they fancied one another. The others had neutral faces, while Myles Mooton had smiled at him and Jaime Lannister had given one of his infamous smirks. 

All the Starks had been gathered. Ned and his wife stood proudly with their son and daughter, their newborn daughter in the arms of Old Nan heavily squirming. Ben and Barbrey held on to their little son's hands while staring at him almost defiantly. The greeting was formal but he could sense the cold fury in Ned's voice. I was foolish, my brother does have wolf's blood. But he's tempered it like a blade in a forge. And for a moment, he could see a sense of longing in Catelyn and Barbrey's eyes. _They're naughtier than whores! Your husbands are beside you!_

Lyanna informally hugged the whole lot, rather than have them all bow. "I may be a Queen now, but I am still a Stark at heart. This is my home!" Rhaegar had shook hands with Ned and Ben and kissed the hands of Catelyn and Barbrey. Before long, they had introduced little Jon, who nearly shied away from Ned. Ned quickly won the boy over, mussing his hair and earning a giggle from the boy. His own son Robb introduced himself to his princely cousin, and the two were conversing almost immediately. 

While he found himself easing back in his old chambers, he had felt more like a stranger. Am I no longer a Stark of Winterfell? Then again, Barbrey and Catelyn aren't really Starks. Yet I know their fathers wanted them to be no matter what. But surely, I'm still in their heads. I'm more a wolf than Ned or Ben could hope to be. This had been my home long before it was theirs. 

He then went off to Catelyn's chambers first. He knew for a fact she hadn't really adjusted to the cold winds of the North, and had resided in the warmest chambers Winterfell has to offer. No offense brother, but she needs a proper man by her side. _The Kingsguard uphold their vows_ , he could hear the voice of Barristan Selmy echoing in his head. Piss off old man, I know that your brother Lewyn Martell of Dorne had kept a paramour for years. I've done almost everything a knight would be asked for. I am brave and just, acted courteously and kept myself cleanly as your old man!! 

" ... think about it?"

Wait a minute, that's Ned's voice. What's he doing here?

"No. Not anymore. I had been a stupid, stupid girl when I married Brandon. I hate that he has this ... power over us, Ned!"

Power? Ohh, so you have thought of me, haven't you, Catelyn?

"And besides, you're wrong. You shouldn't be like Brandon. I fell in love with you, for you. That was why I gave you my maiden's gift, not him."

WHAT?! YOU FUCKED MY BROTHER! FUCKING WHORE! 

"And I should have realized it sooner, but you're more handsome than he is," she said with a kiss soon after.

Oh, now I know that you're lying to him Catelyn. Why do you lie to my brother?

"What about you, Ned? Do you have any regrets in marrying me? Last I had heard, you were all but set to marry Ashara Dayne of Starfall."

Ashara Dayne. He had wondered what happened to that fiery minx. He had heard that she had been on her way to the North and suddenly disappeared. Mayhaps she couldn't stand to be around me. The only reason they had become inseparable enough during the tourney was because of me.

"Almost. My dear friend Howland sent me a raven that he and her had wed. Truth be told, I'm happy for them."

The crannogman? Married to her?? Is this Westeros or the Seven Hells?

"Have you ever thought of anyone else other than my brother?"

Wha ...? Now, this was interesting. Little minx. 

"Honestly, I did find Jaime Lannister handsome when he came to visit us at Riverrun. And King Rhaegar when he came to visit. And then you. What about you, dear husband? Was there some other woman that entranced you before the ever-famed and ever beautiful Ashara Dayne of Starfall?"

"In all honesty, there was Jon Arryn's niece Alyce from my time being fostered there. And when Robert insisted on taking me to the Stormlands, he had introduced me to his cousin, Serena Estermont. He likely had a notion to make us family through her. When I was younger, my heart had all but fallen when I saw Lady Bethany; before she married Lord Bolton. Then there was Lady R - "

"Okay, that's enough of that now, dear husband!" she said almost hissing it. 

"Why, wife? Are you jealous?"

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you forget about them, and then some!" 

Catelyn was never like that whenever we were together. And I can hear Ned laugh and smile. Did magic suddenly appear into the world? Oh, well. Time to see if Barbrey would like a good old romp, for old times sake. 

"O-o-ohh, Ned!"

I must be going deaf in one of my ears!

He half expected Ben and Barbrey to have their own holdfast by now. They already have a son of their own, and soon enough another one. Ned couldn't possibly have been anything compared to me. What chance does Ben have? I know Barbrey like the back of my own hand. Mayhaps, she had to think of me when he was wiggling in her. That part was surprisingly hard, leaving Barbrey behind. But, nothing a romp in the Broken Tower couldn't fix. Shame about her and Willam though. They would have made a lovely couple. Last he heard, Will had married a Blackwood, some cousin or the sister of Lord Tytos. 

" ... an idiot!"

Hmm? Who's an idiot?

"I know. But we can't change what happened. We have a son now, Barbrey."

"I know, Ben. But every time I look at him, I want to smack in his fool head in!"

"Not so loud. The wetnurse just put Errol to sleep!"

"Sorry. I just hate that I wasted so much time on him. I always thought myself in love with him and hoping to be his lady. Not lady of Winterfell, like my father wanted. Just me and him together."

"So, ...you regret having had to wed me? After what he did? Was I just some consolation?"

"No, Ben. Listen to my words. I regret I spent so much time fawning over him. If anything, I was worse that Ned's fool of a wife. I saw him for everything he was, and didn't care enough to stay away from him. I am very glad that I wed you. You are much better than Brandon. And in every way possible!"

Why are all these women lying to my brothers? They have as much charm and handsomeness as a hedge knight or sellsword!

They aren't any true Starks of Winterfell. Not true and proper wolves as Lya and I are. Then he took a note of the little ones. Jon and Robb were playing with the new ward; the Greyjoy boy. Sansa was idly watching them as they laughed and ran. Barely looks like a Stark, the little thing. 

Or mayhaps I've been wrong. Mayhaps, ... I'm not a Stark, or ever was one. Ben, Ned, and Lya are undoubtedly Starks. A wolf has a pack. Lya. Ned. Ben. All of them are growing their own. And I'm just a lone wolf. ... 


	176. Lionstars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's strange being the mother of children for a man you once loved, but love them anyway because of that man.

It was strange having them both here. Though it was for the best. 

Although, she was all too aware that Myrcella had missed her Dornish prince. It had been a precaution nonetheless, less the Martell's had the notion to give her to the lost heir of Rhaegar Targaryen. Ser Arys Oakheart's final actions had been strange but had it not been for him, and surprisingly the aid of Ser Balon Swann. He must have seen it as a sense of duty to aid in hiding her. Although, she and Ser Balon and likely her savior, Ser Arys, feel guilt for the death of her distant kin; Rosamund. 

While she does look quite similar to her mother; she can see that she is much different from her. She was certainly kinder than her, and more understanding of people and how the world around her works. And strangely accepting of it, making the best of the situation, even though she can't see her prince. She has written to him relentlessly though. One could easily think that it was a passing child's fancy but this is much more. They had been betrothed, and even with knowing what she was, Trystane didn't seem to care much. Regardless of her status as a bastard, she would make a fine lady of any household. 

Tommen looked so much like Jaime. Much of his youthful chubbiness was fading from his face; turning it lean. There was a certain hardness in his eyes that reminded her of Jaime. In his last days as king, he had heard and seen much. The mad ravings of his mother, his little wife and her family all but abandoning him. Jaime had quickly and cunningly saved him from his mother's infernal plan to destroy King's Landing. 

He had trouble at first. Being in a strange new land. But he managed to smile in time again. Although, he had admitted that he had missed his "wife" Margaery. The boy doesn't know much of romance. It's not like they had done anything, mayhaps some small kisses on the cheek. She must have been something to him. Certainly not a wife, a friend of sorts mayhaps. 

Podrick had certainly helped in trying to make them comfortable, as well as her father Lord Selwyn Tarth. He quickly became enamored with little Myrcella. It almost seemed as if she was replacing her in her father's heart, but she knew better than that and acting like a stupid jealous girl. She never had a proper father before and Jaime couldn't be one to them even if he wanted to. Although, it did feel as if he looked to Tommen like the son he had lost. 

It was a good thing that Jaime had sent two of his squires to Tarth as well some of Cersei's household. Hoster Blackwood and Josmyn Peckledeon got along well with Podrick, training with them. But they all got along swimmingly with Tommen; seeing him as a younger brother of sorts. All of them often teaming up to try to beat me. Although, Hos won't improve much and has no real plan to do so. Tommen does though, and with each passing session, he's becoming more and more like Jaime. Lady Jocelyn Swyft got along well with Myrcella, often talking with her about anything from what was going on in the Kingdoms to the comings and goings of any passing travelers. 

Other than both of their beauty, they were not wholeheartedly like their father and mother. All of their looks and none of their nature. Myrcella so sweet, caring and intelligent but with a streak of stubbornness, bravery and resilience. Tommen so polite, kind and loving but his will to fight so much different. More than to protect others than simply for the sake of fighting alone. 

But Tommen is still a boy growing into a man. Now with the help of her father, he may be set to become the heir of House Tarth and Lord of Evenfall Hall. She and her father had seen that he had an interest in her distant kinly bastard; Serena Storm. She was a good sweet girl close of an age to him, armed with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, fair, and willowy. Her father was some cousin of her father's and her mother was either a noble lady from the Stormlands or a Lyseni trader.

Tommen would blush like a madman when he was around her or if someone talked of her. They would make a lovely couple. Bearing children fair of hair and fair of face. More often than not, Hos had been educating them both in being a lord and lady. He was certainly better at it than the maester. 

They were all growing so much and so fast. She had seen to care for them the way that Jaime asked but it was not truly in her. She had little memory of her own mother, and she only heard Lady Catelyn talk of her children with such fondness. There was no way that she knew anything of mothering. All Jaime said before he left for the Wall was; "Be better than Cersei, wench!" Have I been better than the Mad Queen? The children have made no indication that she is doing anything wrong. 

It wasn't until she came upon Myrcella and her other lady friends that she seemed to understand something. Something that made her understand. Myrcella had been making a sigil of some kind, in future preparation of Tommen and Serena's wedding, even though that wouldn't happen for some years, and the High Septon declares his marriage with Margarey null and void. It was quartered with a yellow sunburst on a rose-coloured field and white crescents on a blue field in the first and third quarters. In the second and fourth quarters is the sigil of House Lannister; a gold lion, rampant on a crimson field. 

"Tommen and Serena won't be true Tarths, so I thought to give them something that showed them the best of both of them. Not an Evenstar, but a Lionstar. It's ... stupid, isn't it?" No, it wasn't. It's a very sweet sentiment. 

"It isn't Myrcella. It's wonderful to do it for them. And you're certainly better at stitching than I could ever be." 

"Thank you, Lady ... I mean, Brienne. For ... everything." she said with a blush. She didn't need to say it, her eyes and her blush had said it all. 

As she came by the training yard, she saw Tommen fighting against a common boy. Both of them were of an age and nearly equal in terms of speed and strength, but it was clear that Tommen was winning. The boy was getting annoyed and angry quite easily. 

"What's the point in it? You're just a bastard. You won't ever be a knight. Bastards can't be knights!"

"You're wrong. No matter my name or blood, a bastard can rise high. And I will be a knight! I swear on my honour!"

"A bastard can't be a knight, and bastards don't have honour, stupid!"

"They can and I will be! But I don't want to be just a knight. I want to be a true knight. A true knight must defend the weak and innocent, be brave and just, and honourable. I will be a true knight, just like Brienne!!" 

Does he truly think that high of me? Think that I am a true knight? 

Mayhaps I have done something right, Jaime. Mayhaps I have been better than Cersei. Mayhaps.


	177. Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Rickon scared his family to their very souls with his relationships and the one time they were nothing if not enamored with his date.

**_Dorea_ **

She is certainly pretty. Pretty dusky skin and a cute dimpled chin and cheeks too boot. But she is rather deadly. Loving to fight as much as she enjoys snogging Rickon. Father had said something about Dornishwomen being madder than a hatter, whatever that meant. 

If she wasn't snogging Rickon, she was practically egging someone on for a fight. She learned at a fairly early age how to use her fists to get what she wanted out of people. Arya had said something about her admiring her elder half-sister and taking after her. He hadn't met Obara Sand, but if she was more mad than her little sister, than I don't want to meet her! 

 

**_Lyanna_ **

She is certainly lovely. But she seems more like a mate than a girlfriend. She curses just as much as Arya, if not more. That's probably why they had become good close mates. 

Rather than kiss, they often gave each other fist bumps. There had been times where it seemed they liked to be ... violent with each other. I saw them put each other in a choke hold. And ... what seemed to look like a ... wrestling move of sorts. At times, it was like they were ... frat brothers rather than boyfriend and girlfriend. She's not crazy as his ex, Dorea, but just as if not more violent. 

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that I want Dorea back. 

 

**_Erena_ **

She was certainly a sweet girl, that much was certain. Very shy around others, and rather kind and polite. 

We probably should have asked her if she was on some kind of medication. And she was. Lithium. To treat her bi-polar disorder. We really should have suspected something at this point. Ric has been attracting and bringing all sorts of crazies. 

But I should also remember one thing that Ric's dates have taught me; a girl's pretty face hides the demons they really are. 

 

**_White Walda_ **

I should have prevented this from happening in the beginning. I did want to give them the benefit of the doubt. 

There are some exceptional people in the Frey's ginormous family. There was Robb's girlfriend Roslin; she was undoubtedly lovely. Walda is undoubtedly lovely, beautifully pale as her name. Her blonde hair neatly framed her heart-shaped face and delicate features. Well-mannered and kind as her half-sister. 

Yet, there was something about her that seemed ... eerie about her. The way she almost clung to Rickon. Like she was his own personal ghost or shadow. White Walda indeed. 

Shortly after they had broken up, she had been showing up wherever her son was. Whether it was watching him during rugby practice, whenever he actually went to the library to study, even close to their home. It's worse than that Frey boy who had been stalking Arya; Elston, or Elmo, whatever his name was. Much worse. 

 

_**Bethany** _

I'm pretty sure that Ric is naturally drawn to crazy chicks. Lyanna and Dorea were a tad agressive, but this one takes the cake. A giant ball of crazy on the outside, yet as sweet as cake within. Almost like a lemon cake gone bad. Slender frame, good heart covered by a fairly big chest, with neatly long jet black hair tied into a fairly long ponytail.

She definitely made a good impression, with her sweet gentle face and smile. She certainly had a certain rebellious streak to her with the way she wore a black leather jacket and eye-liner that almost made her look like one of those Goth kid weirdos who hang out behind the school. Almost bizarre. I can barely tell if she's as crazy as his ghost or Erena without her meds, or just a normal chick playing the role of a bad girl ... horribly. 

Ric, I do hope you know what you're doing. 

 

**_Shireen_ **

Of all the girls his son had brought over, she was undoubtedly a winner. All of the family liked her. Robb and Jon found themselves joking with the girl, Sansa and Arya could actively hold a conversation with her, Bran had made a new friend, and Catelyn found her to be wonderful as he did.

In spite of the burn marks on her face, that was inflicted by her vile cousin, she was no doubt beautiful. Her black hair was neatly combed to the right side of her face to try to hide the burns. Her eyes a rich dark blue. 

Undoubtedly intelligent, intending to major in history and literature once she graduates. Certainly ambitious in certain regards. 

There was a streak of stubbornness to her, but that was a given. She is a Baratheon and her father's daughter.

Although, there is one guarantee. As much as we like her, Stannis might not like Rickon.


	178. Golden Wings and Spears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They went on separate paths and changed. But they still recognize each other; they're brother and sister. They can't ever forget that!

It had been so long since she had seen Tommen. He had certainly grown since the last time they had seen each other. 

Uncle Tyrion had informed them that they would be leaving the Captial. She was going to the Vale, to be safe and ensure it stays in line. And keep her betrothed, Robin Arryn, company. Tommen would be fostering in Dorne, to renew ties with the Martells. And maybe even befriend the youngest prince Trystane. 

She remembered just how much they cried and held each other when they found out the news. They had been each other's best and only friends in the Red Keep. They had once befriended the young heir of Driftmark, Monterys Velaryon, but Mother didn't like anything about Driftmark and they never saw him again. 

The ship to Gulltown had taken nearly a moon to get there. Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard had accompanied her on the journey. She had to admit that the Vale was quite impressive, and the Eyrie was quite beautiful with it's beautiful pale stone towers. 

The Arryn's were not very welcoming. Lady Lysa was weary of them; eyeing all with suspicion. Though, she hadn't always been like that. She remembered that she used to smile at her and Tommen a lot before her husband had died. And Old Lord Jon Arryn had smiled at them and patted their heads with fondness. She faintly recalled Robin Arryn; rather small and pale. His pale chestnut brown hair beginning to grow long and reaching his shoulders, and his big Arryn blue eyes were often runny from his constant whining and crying. 

She had heard rumours that she would have been sent to Dorne and betrothed to Prince Trystane Martell of Dorne. He likely would have made better company. It pains her to say or even think it, but Robin Arryn is an arse. Or was one. 

At first, he had been extraordinarily whiny. He made Joffrey look like a saint! But he was no monster like her brother. He was far more innocent than Tommen was. He may be naive at times, but he was by any means stupid and craven. She needed to be clever in order for him to truly be grown; for both of their sake. If he was going to be her future husband, than he couldn't be such a weakling. 

"You are a falcon, not a pigeon!" she often said, to prod him out of his little delusions. Goading him to live up to the fantasies he liked and deemed worthy of himself. With Ser Arys' help, he was becoming more happy, hale and brave. Riding a horse and wielding a bow but still trying to wield a sword. But that was not without it's faults. 

Lady Lysa seemed to like him being weak and dependent. She nearly went as far as to try to feed him from her own breast ... again! If they spent any time together, it was often with Ser Arys' watchful eyes and her menacing stare. Whenever they would play come-into-my-castle, But Robin was not like that, not anymore. And more often than not, she had heard her say nasty things about her; like "golden little bitch", and "lion whore". It was strange, but it was almost like she was staring at her mother. 

When she had heard that Joffrey was to be married to Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, she almost felt sorry for the poor girl. But then she heard that Tommen would be making a brief return from his fostering in Dorne. She almost felt giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing her brother again. With some prodding, she and Robin had managed to convince the Lord Steward Nestor Royce to let them go on the condition that he accompany them, along with Ser Arys and a few other trusted knights. 

The moment she saw Tommen, she almost squealed and leapt into his arms. He had gotten so tall. Almost as tall as Joffrey. And becoming as hard and lean as the spear in his hand. His face becoming leaner; losing it's youthful chubbiness. His blonde curls were a bit messy but it suited him perfectly. And his eyes; they were still youthful but they carried a fiery fierceness to them. His speech was closer to a man's, but he was still her brother. 

When Joffrey came to them, he almost expected them to cower before him. Joff had always bullied Tom; more often threatening to throw him in the Black Cells once he would be king, and threatening to kill his kittens and have them fed to him discreetly by mixing their innards in his food. Tom would be shaking, but not this time. 

"Care to have a spar with me, brother? I've heard of your prowess. The mighty Joffrey Baratheon holding his own against our uncle, Stannis Baratheon. I'd like to see that for myself."

"A king has no time to ... play with his insipid brother. Besides, training with bloody Dornishmen instead of proper knights. You'd likely end up cheating just like them. You'd have no honour, brother!"

"And you never had any! What was it like; having the Starks beaten and mutilated the way they did. The Boltons won't hold the North long, and it's only a matter of time before the North rises again and rains winter on you and the rest of the kingdoms."

Joff likely would have thrown a tantrum on how he was the king and his brother was speaking treason. It wasn't treason; it was sense. The North wouldn't be happy about having the Starks slain the way they were.  And given the Bolton's fearsome reputation, and they were considered traitorous alongside House Frey, they wouldn't be able to hold the North for long. 

Just as Joffrey all but had a tantrum, and show the kingdoms he was more a child than a king, their grandfather had approached him and grabbed his shoulder firmly. Staring him down like the old and proud lion he was. He then eyed Tommen and me, as if he was searching for something. It was not just the ferocity that Tommen had displayed, it was something else entirely. Respect? Maybe.

It was good to see Sansa again. Not just to offer her condolences, however empty they may be, but because she had considered her a friend in a way. And it would be good for Robin to meet and know his cousin. He and Tommen seemed to be getting along fine, as Tom had offered to show him how to use a spear. 

Tragedy had soon struck. The horror in seeing Joffrey clawing at his throat as his face turned purple and his green eyes bulging out. She may not have loved him, and more times than not wanted him to suffer a horrific fate for all the terrible things he'd ever done to her and Tommen, she had never wanted that to happen. That was the most horrifying thing she'd ever seen. 

As much as her mother wanted her to stay, she and Robin had to come back to the Vale. Just before she left, she had heard that per custom and for maintaining an alliance with the Tyrells, that Tommen would be set to marry Lady Margaery, who had briefly been Joffrey's wife and Uncle Renly's. She had to admit that she was undoubtedly beautiful with her amber eyes and glistening golden brown curls. But there was a shrewdness in her eyes, something that immediately told her that she may end up hurting Tommen. He may not be a naive boy anymore, but he was still her brother ans she his sister. He had his own words with Robin and now she had to have words with Margaery. She either didn't take me seriously, didn't care about Tom, or seemed to understand. Her piercing amber eyes make it difficult to read her. 

But she shouldn't underestimate her brother. Just because he's a boy growing into a man, doesn't mean that he'll fall for every pretty face that comes his way. No, something in his eyes is just as shrewd as her. Almost like their grandfather. She had heard people comment on how Joffrey was Aerys the Third, mayhaps Tommen is Twyin the Second?

The moment they got back to the Vale was a surprise. Lord Petyr Baelish had come back to the Eyrie and was now married to Lady Lysa. And along with him was his bastard daughter, Alayne Stone. It was hard to believe that he just brought her just for a safe haven. She quickly recognized her friend, Sansa. While she wouldn't betray her, she can't say the same for Baelish. His eyes were more unnerving than Margaery's. They're cold, almost empty. 

When he made his own claim that Lady Lysa had tragically taken her own life, she and Robin had helped in his downfall. A man like him can only rise so far to never see just how high the drop was. It had taken some prodding on both Robin and Sansa's parts but they had taken the life of the man who had taken so much from the kingdoms. The very bane of it ... just gone. The moment that Robin ordered him to be pushed out the Moon Door, he truly looked like a fierce lord of the Vale. A proud falcon. 

She had heard word of Tommen being a great king with his little rose by his side. And had all but sent their mother away from King's Landing and straight back to Casterly Rock. And that he trusted his hand, Uncle Kevan, with the utmost confidence. 

We're no longer mewling cubs, brother. We are proud lions.


	179. Persuasion (Sallador/Cersei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis wins King's Landing thanks to Saan's ships doing something miraculous to prevent the wildfire trick. Because Stannis is an honest man, he gives Cersei to Sallador as he promised, and the pirate fucks the queen, and fucks her well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not going to rape her; I'm going to fuck her."  
> "As if she would just let you!?"  
> "You'd be surprised at how persuasive I can be. I never tried to fuck you."

How in the name of the Seven Hells did this happen? 

She had first thought this Lyseni pirate would take her to Stannis. She had remained on his boat for quite some time. And yet, she was here in his bed. 

He was certainly not like Robert; who just madly thrust into her until he squirted himself silly inside of her. He certainly was not like Jaime; although he is as slim and muscular as him. It was ... strangely exciting. 

But how did it happen? She can barely remember. She faintly recalls shouting at him to let her go and to offer to pay his ship's weight in gold. Yet, within a matter of moments, his lips were on his. And she wasn't fighting him off. She had just gave into the kiss. And into more so easily. 

Just how long had it been since she had a proper fuck? Lancel was essentially a maiden when he came into her bed. He had fumbled the first time, and hadn't exactly improved. _How many times did I have to tell him just how to touch me?_ This man certainly knew what to do. How to touch a woman. But he is a Lyseni; most of them are degenerates. Trained in the ways of pleasure. 

Certainly good pleasure. She hasn't thought of anything else since she had been taken to the ship. Wanting, no, needing his hand roaming around her body and smacking her buttocks. The way his teeth teased her breasts as they nipped at her teats. 

She should be thinking about the crown. But she knew what would happen. Tommen and Myrcella would likely be spared, while Joffrey likely dying at Stannis' She should be thinking all sorts of things. The crown, the city, her family. But she doesn't. In fact, they're the furthest thing from her mind. There was only one thing on her mind, one small train of thought. 

_Just when will my pirate king come back?_


	180. Tamed Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's true love, you see, she tried to kill him; that means it's true love.

It was rather strange. No one had seemed to like it at all. 

Many had been surprised that the man who had been considered and even revered as Ned Stark's bastard was actually her kinsmen. She had never thought that Rhaegar had another son. More had been more flabbergasted when it had been uncovered that Rhaegar's first-born son Aegon, had actually survived his alleged death with the aid of his septa Lemore and Varys the Spider. 

Numerous ladies had been brought to the court to try to wed the princes. But they didn't seem rather interested. 

Jon had insisted that he had already been married to the "wildling princess" named Val. Although, the High Septon insisted that the marriage was not valid and tried to get it annulled. But that did not matter to Jon. His time spent with the wildlings have changed him. It was like that great big man said when she had saw him at Winterfell. 

"He's spent too much time with us, little dragon. He can never be a kneeler again."

All the more reason for him to stay at King's Landing. Whether or not he kept denying it, he was meant to be a king. He knew hardships more than anyone else. More than Aegon, truly. But the North was his home, and he all but vowed to never leave it again. As much as they would like for him to marry one of their daughters, or even if he married her, he wouldn't do it. 

Aegon's choice of a bride definitely perturbed everyone. She was certainly a lady, just not the kind of lady anyone had expected. In some way, it could make sense, as her own son would have his aunt. 

Lady Asha Greyjoy was more a warrior than a proper lady of Westeros. She reminded her more of Lady Brienne and Arya, if not a bit more prettier than the former. She often mentioned that she was married to her ax; claiming it as her husband and her dirk was her mewling babe. But she was good with her son, in spite of being a warrior through and through.

It seems to be a habit almost. That her brother's sons would be attracted to the unconventional. Wild and abrasive woman. Mayhaps, that is why he ran off with the Stark girl. Did she bring out the fire inside his inner dragon? 


	181. Mocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn isn't fast enough to intervene between Brandon and Petyr's duel, and Petyr dies.

The younger sister, Lysa, was still screeching at the top of her lungs. The little heir, Edmure, was quietly sobbing. 

And Cat ... Catelyn just stared at the boy's lifeless body. 

The feeling was ... indescribable. 

He never meant to hurt the stupid boy that much. A scratch or two at best. He had challenged him to a duel for Catelyn's hand. And honour demanded that he accept his duel.  For his own and Catelyn's to be defended. 

When he came out of the armory wearing armour that scantily covered his body, he almost wanted to laugh. He likely never had a real fight or a proper spar in his life. But the only real fights I ever had were drunken cuffs in taverns, and fights that I had started half the time. 

For the sake of the boy's stupidity, and Catelyn's pleading, he decided to go easy on him. Removing part of his own armour. While he was certainly not strong, he was fairly quick. If he trained properly, he could be one of the famed Bravosi Water Dancers he had heard about once in Maester Walys' lessons. But he still lacked much technique. 

The boy was nothing if not determined. And a bit fierce too. There was no doubt that he thought Catelyn pretty if not boring as a septa for the most part. Her sister even more boring, and a poor copy of her sister. Yet, here was this boy, who claimed to have loved Catelyn more than he ever could. 

It almost looked like an out for him; just let the two of them wed. But old Lord Hoster would never allow it, and he doubted whether Catelyn herself was in love with the boy. 

Petyr, Baelon or whatever his name was, a boy of an age to his younger brother, now lay dead before him. Honour demanded he fight, and honour was the price he had paid. He didn't want to hurt the boy. He certainly didn't mean to kill him. Just what had happened in that moment? He was certainly an arrogant prissy little shit; annoying as hell too. The way he kept commenting that he didn't deserve Catelyn. 

That he could admit was true. Let her have a knight she dreams of and not me. He didn't think of Catelyn in that moment. She was the furthest thing in his mind. The wolf's blood, mayhaps? Father always said that I was filled to the brim with it. Anger? No, annoyance. The boy was a nuisance. Was. 

Willam and I had often talked about earning fame and glory in any upcoming war. He knew that he would have to take someone's life one day. He never knew the boy. So, ... why do I feel so terrible?


	182. Beauty (Rickon/Myrcella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She thought that she wouldn't be considered beautiful again. Until she was in his arms.

It was a craven thing to do; run away from Dorne. But she had done it anyways. 

Many had often said that she would grow to be just as, if not more beautiful than her mother. But now, she does not think so. Now, with the scar on her cheek and part of her ear cut off. Was this how Shireen felt with her scars? That everyone was just looking at them and not her?

She had been left with enough more than enough coin to seek passage, and had been left with some able Lannister guardsmen. Rolder and Godwyn are just as able as Ser Arys if a bit lacking in skill. 

As much as it pained her to leave Trystane, she felt that she could not trust the Martells. The elder Sand Snakes at the very least. She was unsure about Princess Arianne. She loved her like an older sister, but would a sister bring a sister such hurt? She did not know. 

When her guardsmen asked her where she was wanted to go, they looked at her queerly when she told them her answer. The North. No one would think to look for her there. It seemed stupid but at the moment, she wanted to get away from everything. 

But Winter had come, as the Starks had always predicted. They had remained by the Three Sisters for nearly five years until the waters had unfrozen. Even as she had gotten used to sister's stew, she still wanted to go the North. She had heard that she had died. Rosamund. I am sorry, my sweet cousin. 

As they had approached White Harbor, the Manderlys quickly accosted them. It was a truly bad idea now. Why would they welcome them and why would she think they wouldn't recognize a Lannister even now? 

They had been quickly brought over to Winterfell. Likely to curry favor with the Starks. Sansa looked more beautiful than she had seen her last. Arya, who looked more like a boy, had undoubtedly blossomed into beauty, if not an austere beauty with the way her eyes practically glowered at hers. Then, there was him. The new Lord Stark; Rickon. 

Looking at him, she was instantly reminded of the fond memory of being escorted by his older brother Robb. His red-brown hair is rather long and unruly, reaching his neck and strangely beautifully framing his face. His face almost as stern as she remembered his father's, Lord Eddard's, to be. His blue eyes held an icy gaze; almost hateful. It was almost like looking at Robb Stark again, but younger and leaner and harsher.

She understands his hatred yet, she instinctively wants to comfort him, She had never done him any harm, nor had she wished any harm on any of her family. 

In Dorne, she had been a ward awaiting the day she would one day marry her betrothed; a gallant prince. In the North, she had essentially become a hostage. She spent much of her time with Sansa, and they were friendly with one another,  but a hostage all the same. She often did stitching with her to occupy her time, but her eyes often wandered to what her ears had been listening to. The clanging of swords in the training yard. 

As she and Sansa decided to walk to the training grounds, she had seen him. Rickon was sparring with his sister Arya. Both of them nearly matched each other in movement, but Rickon more aggressive and Arya as calm as still water. Arya bore a steely gaze and Rickon bore one of ice. They truly looked like two rampant wolves of a pack. 

Both of them quickly took note that they were being watched. Arya bore a small smile to her but Rickon did not. He was not glowering like before, but his face certainly wasn't friendly. Eyes cold as ice. It made her feel strange; her face felt flush and her heart sinking in fear. 

"It's strange seeing him like this. When he was younger, he would have easily welcomed you with a smile and a hug. And he might've wanted you and your attention all to himself. Now, he doesn't like going near anyone. It sort of reminds me of my father, but more ... terrifying. I miss the boy he was. But I am also glad that he's growing. Though, I fear he has grown far too much," Sansa said with melancholy in her voice and heart. 

She could almost understand that. She had heard about her brother's survival and how he had been smuggled back to Casterly Rock. And that Uncle Tyrion had him legitimized as it's new lord. And how that if Joffrey was Aerys the Third, then Tommen was Lord Tywin Reborn. She can't imagine her brother being as cruel as her grandfather. Cold and unflinching. It made her heart pang. 

Then and there, she decided that she needed, no, wanted, to become Rickon Stark's friend. Although, it would be hard and troubling, considering his great big direwolf always followed him. A great big shadow with gleaming green eyes that loomed over him. Often snapping his teeth or baring his fangs at anyone he didn't like. It was certainly difficult but in time, he began to warm up to her. His eyes that often gleamed with anger and caution, now seemed to brighter and happier when around her. He had tried to teach her the Old Tongue, while she often helped him learn to be more well-mannered and courteous. It was more than a comfort knowing that he smiled around her; for her. 

How stupid. He's younger than me by three years, and I'm just a hideously scarred bastard. A freak. The North wouldn't want him to marry me. He'd likely be married to a noble lady of the North, or maybe even the Blackwood's only daughter. Though, there is talk that he might marry one of the Skagosi's daughters. When and why did I start stupidly thinking of this? 

As she lay in her bed, thinking stupid things, she then heard a tap by her window. She had ignored it until she saw someone outside. Rickon. It seems that he inherited his brother's innate climbing abilities. But ... what on earth is he doing here? 

"Rickon, what are you doing, you madman?"

"I just felt like doin' it. And I needed to talk with you about somethings."

It was strange looking at him now. Only recently turning three-and-ten, and he had begun to reach Sansa's height. His face a bit windburnt but it added to his rough-hewn features. And she knew he would only grow more handsome as time goes on. Her heart was flipping over and over at the thought. 

"What about?"

"I wanted your opinion on something. I heard Sansa and some of the lords talking ... about marriage. Some of them have daughters of an age to me, and all but showing them off to Sansa. I was wondering who do you think I should marry. Lord Manderly mentioned something about a niece or cousin of his. I have a bit of a mind to marry Lyanna. She's a good friend to Arya, but I think that'd tick them both off. And Lyanna doesn't seem the type to marry."

She felt a lump in her throat. Why was he talking to her about this? Why not Sansa or Arya? Or even "Lady Lyanna" considering they often tried to beat each other senseless in the courtyard. Or Dryn, or Gawen Glover? Why me? Why is he asking me?

"Oh. I, uh, um, well, I ... d-do-don't know about ..." 

"I know I'm to be married one day, but I thought I'd have a bit more time."

"Then, w-why don't you tell them that it can wait then?"

"I'm a Stark. The last trueborn son of Eddard Stark, as they say. That I must do my duty."

"Mayhaps, you don't have to marry ..."

"I'm a Stark. The last and only one left. Sansa and Arya don't want to marry and can't pass down the Stark name. C'mon, Cella, please, help me ou - "

It was sudden. It was wrong. It was stupid. His three-and-ten to her six-and-ten. She thought that he would push her away. Call her ugly and climb out. But she was wrong. Instead, he held her tightly. She didn't think she would ever be beautiful again. But all those thoughts drifted away when she felt his arms around her waist and his lips crashing into hers again. 

"I-I-I'm so-sorry. I, I didn't me - "

"Let's stop thinking, and talking."

Yes, we should just do that, she thought, as they fell back on the bed. Just stop talking, stop thinking. Just forget everything for a while. 


	183. Soaring, Howling, Prancing, and Roaring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tywin discovers what the twins have been doing, he sends Jaime to be fostered by Jon Arryn.

He looked at them all. His home filled with laughter and merriment. 

Jon Arryn had not fully understood why Tywin Lannister of all people asked him to foster his son when he could have easily sent him off to anyone of his bannerman. The Marbrands had close relations and were their most stalwart vassals. Or the Crakehalls or the Braxes. 

It was because of it that he almost felt compelled to write to the Baratheons that he might not be able to foster their son Robert, but they were insistent. And how much were three boys to handle?

Robert and Ned had come within the same time and year. Robert was loud and demanding, even as a lad. While Ned was more quiet, easily accepting of things and bearing more humility than any boy of his age. Far more quick to learn than Robert who's head was filled to the brim with stone. Robert may be more martially inclined but Ned was no slouch either; being able to keep up with Robert's large and powerful swings. 

Within two years time, Jaime Lannister had come to foster with him. He was already a handsome lad with his neat golden curls and cat-green eyes. And would grow to become more handsome as he grew. Much like Robert, he loved to fight; a born warrior. If he was not practicing his swordplay, he was either riding or practicing the quintains. He would surely grow to be a true knight. 

Things had not been easy though. Jaime did seem to get along well enough with his nephew Elbert; until he went off to foster with his mother's family in Strongsong. Ned felt a bit uneasy around Jaime. Robert all but loathed Jaime; often trying to put him down because of their differences in age. 

Although, Ned and Jaime managed to resolve any tension they had in time. Ned had more than often helped Jaime in his lessons, while Jaime had helped Ned improve his swordsmanship skills. Ned now as fast as Jaime with a blade. Every time they came to blows, either one of them would win or end in a tie. They're near equal in everything, even though Ned still thought that tourneys are frivolous. They played off each other beautifully. The lion and the wolf. 

Jaime and Robert were another story. The stag and the lion. Both of them fighting each other for any little reason. Robert often tried to boss him around because he was older. More often than not, Robert threaten to break every bone in Jaime's body, and Jaime would return the boast. Eventually, their boasts had become real one day when Robert had taken things too far.  Both of them are almost the same, but far too proud to see or admit it. Rash, headstrong, impatient and far too bold for his liking. Naturally gifted warriors but caring little of any consequences. 

The whole lot of them have had many adventures. Most often born from Robert's whims, Jaime's impulsiveness and Elbert and Ned's indecisiveness. And ultimately, he had to punish them for their transgressions. His halls had seen and heard more merriment in ages. Robert's loud ribald laughter, Elbert and Jaime's witty quips, and Ned's rather dry humour. 

He almost seems loath to let them go. Robert was now Lord of Storm's End, Ned now a man, and Tywin insisting that his heir to come to Casterly Rock.

_My boys ..._


	184. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert decides to agree with Lord Tywin Lannister that his son Jaime will be released from the Kingsguard and take his rightful place as Lord of the Rock ... only if he is willing to take the black cloak of the Nights Watch.

_"Do you think Lyanna would want this, Robert?"_

Those words rang loud and true in his head. He killed that whoreson Rhaegar. His inbred spawn dead. Not by his hand but dead all the same. 

_"When will it end Robert? You'll be madder than the king we fought to get rid of!"_

He thought that Ned was a stupid fool. But he always spoke sense. While a bit too serious and grim at times, Ned always spoke sense along with Jon Arryn. As much as he disliked the Lannisters as much as the next man, he couldn't just be rid of them. They did help them get rid of the Targaryens. But they also took Lyanna from me. 

Baratheons never had much sense and rarely listen. Mother had often told him that much. But if I am to be king, I need to start my reign as great as possible. The kingdoms are divided. The Martell's would surely be livid. Not because that they lost their position in court, but because they had lost kinsmen. The prince and princess, Princess Elia, and Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard. 

The children. Good gods, the children. Ned was right. If Lyanna was to be his lady wife or queen, she would not want that. Who would want that? That was not his finest moment. He knew that they would have to kill Aerys, and the Lannister brat had done them a boon. But the children ... Jon Arryn was right on that too. They could have been handled. Dispossessed, stripped of every rank and title, live in exile. 

I smiled. The Gods should have smited me for doing that. Smiling over a dead woman and her dead babes. Good Gods, the babe. Rhaegar's little prince was just a mess of gore; his little head concaved and his brain's spewed out. I was no better than the Mad King in that moment. No better than him setting people ablaze with wildfire for doing little to earn his ire. 

No more madness. No more tyranny. No more dragons. There will prosperity. There will be peace. And there will be a better king. 

* * *

He had been summoned by the new king. King Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. 

He almost wanted to laugh. Aerys had done nothing but slight him over and over again. Everything he had ever done for a man he once called a friend, only to be spited over and over until he had become a joke to be made of in court. Not again. Never again. 

The Lannisters will stand strong and proud. Everything he had done was for the benefit of House Lannister. Everything I've worked so hard for. The Lannisters have finally paid their debt to you, Aerys. 

As he made his way to the throne, he couldn't help but look at the new king. Tall and towering, hair as dark as night and eyes as blue and rich as the seas. He looked every inch of a warrior, no doubt. He radiated the necessary confidence as befitting for a new king. But he needed to be molded to be a true king. 

Cersei would be perfect by his side. A perfect regal queen. And he would be what he had been to Aerys all those years ago when we were willful youths. But if that were to happen, he would have to get rid of Jon Arryn. He would just get in the way. And the Old Falcon has lost most of his good years anyway. No, in time, once he manages to get a child on that insipid child bride of his. If he manages to do so, it would be a great boon from the Gods, after Aerys had taken away his heirs.

"Lord Tywin Lannister, step forth." King Robert said in a booming voice. It was perfect for the battlefield and court. Strong and authoritative. 

"I've heard of your bravery in taking the city and eliminating the threat of the Targaryens. For that, I offer you my thanks. But that deed alone shall not go unpunished. Although, I would like to know just how you managed to get in when the city gates had been closed. Curious indeed."

He suddenly felt a cold sweat dripping on him. No. He's just a stupid warmongering oaf. Surely, he couldn't possibly know on how he had swiftly taken the city with Pycelle's prodding. He had always been my man instead of the king's; there is no way he could possibly know. 

"I had heard you are a remarkable if not a feared commander, Lord Tywin. For that enough, I respect you. And yet, you can't seem to control your own men. I do appreciate the ... gift you have given me. But I never knew that the Mountain was so afraid of a babe and a maid. And Amory Lorch .... he must really hate children to have done that to a helpless girl."

His silks were practically coated with sweat. What on earth was this? "I fear that even the most experienced of commanders can lose control of their men, my king."

"But not you. You're the mighty Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock! You've fought and commanded men in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. I remembered seeing you in court with my brother Stannis, and thought you were the king before my father corrected us. And yet, you can't control two men? I thought I was supposed to be as green as grass!" he laughed out loud. 

Where does this insipid boy get off insulting me!

"Yet, I must digress, my lord," he said with a bright smile. "In your failure to control them, you allowed the atrocity that befell the Princess and her children to happen. For that, they will be sentenced to death."

That unnerved him a bit. Brutal as they may be, Gregor Clegane was a valuable asset to have. But if it meant placating the new king ...

"Yes, of course, Your Grace. I'll see that justice is granted."

"Good. On to other matters. As it pains me to admit, I would have to marry, even if it's not to my beloved Lyanna."

Stupid little wolf bitch has no place beside anyone. What is a mere wolf compared to the might of a lion?

"So, with a heavy heart, and the heed of my Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, your daughter Cersei will be my bride. Now, onto the matter of your son, Ser Jaime. While I do condone his actions in killing the king, others do not. That aside, he has shown his true colours. Serving loyally when serving was safe. I need loyal men by my side. With that, I concede to your request to remove Ser Jaime from the Kingsguard. He will be Lord of the Rock, but only remain in the Rock, never to show his face in King's Landing."

Jaime. The heir and pride of House Lannister back in his rightful place. 

"And as such, you will be sent off to Castle Black."

Wait a minute. What did he say?

"Uh, um, Your Grace. It would not be wise to sent Lord Tyw - "

"Don't worry, Grand Maester, you will go with him as well. I trust your son as far as I can throw him, but I trust you even less. I don't like you, and I'd like to punch your face in. But I'm sure you can manage to redeem yourself by serving the realm and commanding the worst the Kingdoms have to offer. Might not be worse off than commanding over Clegane and Lorch."

Wh - Wha - What on earth had happened? What had happened?? He half expected him to be praising him. I ordered them to be put down to remove the blood from your hands. And this is how you repay me, you oaf?

"Should I hear any word of you resisting or insubordination, I have ordered my men to cut you down as you have done to the children."

... I .... I .... I ....

"Yes, Your Grace. I ...accept .... these terms. They are ... most generous."


	185. Of Lords and Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he won't admit it, he's a true Baratheon, like his father and uncle  
> AU Davos serves Gendry as he becomes the new Lord of Storms End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Here we are now."  
> "Two boys from Flea Bottom in the castle of a king"

Some would say that serving was all he was good for. But it was something he truly did not mind. And he was more than happy to serve.His family was well provided for in their new keep; even though it was not fully complete. 

Though he would see his fortune as just having been lucky, he had been truly blessed to have come into Stannis Baratheon's service. He'd thought that he would never meet someone like him again. That was, until he met the boy. 

Gendry. Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill. The new Lord Baratheon of Storm's End. Though he won't admit it, he's a true Baratheon like his father and uncle. There was never any doubt that he wasn't one with his dark hair and rich blue eyes. He can certainly be stubborn as Stannis at times. He and his little wife. But certainly willing to see reason most of the time. 

He had only seen his father, King Robert, a scarce few times in his life, he does have somethings of him. Things he would probably deny but were there. He was undeniably a warrior through and through.Tall, strong and powerful, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Rather rash at times and a wee bit impatient too. With his own bull's head helm, he looked like a horned demon. He even used his father's old warhammer when Stannis had taken it from the Red Keep's armory and deemed him worthy enough to give it to him. More often than not, he'd use a six foot long silver bright blade with runes decorated with ruby eyes on its pommel, and has a chunk of dragonglass carved in the shape of a grinning skull. 

With the way he liked to go out on to the Stag of the Sea, he had Stannis' love of the sea in him too. With that strength of his, he'd have made a great deckhand or oarsmen. He certainly doesn't thirst for battle like his father. He's seen that war is not all about honour and glory like Stannis had. A bit too blunt and coarse with his speech but amiable and approachable enough with a certain easy charm. He must've gotten that part from Renly. 

It was rather surprising that he would become the Lord of Storm's End. Especially him. But when he and Stannis had met and fought together in the War of the Night, as the commonfolk called it, he had been willing to grant him the Baratheon name and titles that came with it. And the people themselves were quite impressed by him, not simply because he was a Baratheon.

The boy, no, man now, is a true leader of men. Having commanded and lead men themselves. He understood duty much like his uncle did. He even looked a bit like him at times if he squinted really hard with his close-cropped beard he'd often adorn on his face. But half the time, he left himself clean-shaven. 

But the boy was all seriousness when acting and dealing with the other lords. Half the time, he was rather amiable and smiling with his wife, friends and household. He had even been personally squiring his youngest son; named Stannis surprisingly enough. When he was like this, he reminded him so of his four lost eldest sons; Dale, Allard, Matthos and Maric. The bouts they had gotten into. It made him miss Devan more. Though, he knew he was serving his king well as the second - youngest Kingsguard. It made him miss Shireen, although he knew that she was happy with the new Lord of Horn HIll, and Edric was close by in Brightwater to contact and protect her if need be. And they were all welcome to visit and stay for a while. 

Tis' truly a shame that he had been born and bred the way he had been. A bigger shame that he spent little time with Stannis as well. Whether he'd be a trueborn son of either Robert or Stannis, he knew that he'd be a son they'd be most proud of. I know that I'm proud of him.


	186. Bountiful (Quentyn/Taena)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Quent and his friends traverse the Free Cities to get to the Dragon Queen, they meet the loveliest lady in all of Myr.

He could barely fathom as to how and why this had happened.

Cletus had made the suggestion to traverse the Free Cities; enjoy ourselves. He knew he was mostly talking about the women. For all he knew, he might've gotten tired of his favored whore at Plankytown. Gerris and Archibald quickly accompanied them. 

The plan had been to go to Tyrosh first and then head off to Lys. "It's everyone's pleasure, Quent!" Cletus had said. That much was fact. It had even been said that if King Robert Baratheon had visited Lys even once, he would never want to leave. Or try to rule from one of it's many pleasure houses. But the ship captain had to dock in Myr to get some supplies, so they decided to make the most of it. 

Everyone (mostly Gerris and Cletus) had decided to go to an alehouse to quench their thirst with cask of ale and a "wench or two". He had not been a man of drink like Gerris and Cletus are. Archibald drank deeply but only one barrel to say the least. It was enough for the Big Man but not enough for the others. Feeling a bit out of place, he looked around and that's when he had seen her. 

The most beautiful woman ever; with black hair and large, dark eyes. Too beautiful by half; shapely, long-legged and full-breasted, with smooth olive skin, ripe lips, huge dark eyes, and thick black hair that looked as if she'd just come from bed. She had looked to be Arianne or Nym's age. He shouldn't have been staring yet he couldn't help himself. Suddenly, he saw her smile a faint smile. He couldn't tell whether it was made toward him or not, but found himself blushing nonetheless.

It was then she came up toward him. He then notice the way she moved her hips as she walked. Every step a seduction. He could barely remember just what they had been talking about, or how and why he kept on talking with her. Normally, he could barely say anything to a girl. And whenever he did, they end up asking for Cletus or Gerris. Barely a girl had been interested in him. Only young Gwyneth Yronwood and Gerris' twin sisters; one of whom had given him his first kiss, though to this day, he still cannot recall who had done it. 

Strangely enough, she reminded him of them. Her smooth unblemished olive skin reminded them of their tawny skin. The way she laughed at a half-made jape reminded him of their adventurousness. The japes she made and confident alluring stare strangely reminded him of Gwyneth Yronwood's self-assurance. He vaguely remembered her telling him that she reminded him of a mad Dornish sellsword she bedded once. For a moment, he thought that she might've been talking about his famed uncle Oberyn, but that thought left his mind when she began to touch his leg.

Within moments, they had rushed out to a nearby bedchamber. It was small but enough. He had laughed and smiled when she said that she had not bedded a proper Westerosi knight. He had only been knighted recently yet he found himself laughing about it. Then the terror had set in when he realized just what she said. He felt himself get nervous but then felt himself completely still as she took his hand, and gently put one of his fingers by those full ripe lips of hers. Then descended toward her breast. On some sort of instinct, he squeezed it and she had moaned. He had half-thought that he had hurt her but then she had urged him to go on. 

Over five times they had bedded in that night alone. The first time, it was rather short; having spilled his seed in her. But she then gave a light jape on never having a Westerosi maiden before. With each time, she had given him clear instructions on how to do it; how to touch her. The right amount of pressure to put on to her bodice; none too soft, none too hard either. Once, very hard that it sounded that she was being stabbed. Hands pawing, limbs stretching, nails biting into skin. 

"I have a husband," she mentioned almost offhandedly. He felt his heart sink at that. 

"Don't you worry. I care for him, but not love him. His love is for another ... man"

He didn't know what to think about that. 

"You're good. Quite good. But you still have much to learn!" she said as she climbed atop him; prepared to straddle and ride. 

_Cletus, this was the best idea you've had._


	187. Dance, Dance, Dance (Cersei/Benjen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some benefits to a rebound.

She found herself looking at him. He was drifting into a peaceful sleep. 

That was somewhat expected with the amount of times they had done it. Gods, how much has this limo taken? All the rocking. 

The Sadie Hawkins Dance was a fucking disaster. It sounded kinda lazy for the girls to ask the guys out to a dance. But she did it any way. 

If I asked Jaime to the dance, everyone would be laughing their asses off. But she had wanted to ask him because she knew that she could always rely on her brother. So, she ended up asking Robert Baratheon. He seemed to be charming enough and ruggedly handsome. And he said yes. 

But things hadn't gone smoothly. For one thing, Robert seemed to be spiking the punch-bowl. Why did the staff insist on that? Idiots. And Robert seemed to be drinking the most of it anyways. He and a bunch of other idiots. That and he kept eyeing everyone else's dates. 

Although, much of the dates had been a surprise. Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully came together, but it looked as if he wanted to have his cake and eat it too with how he and Ashara Dayne had kept shyly eyeing each other. Although, his older brother Brandon kept eyeing her too. How is it that Catelyn Tully wanted to be with Ned Stark when his brother was there? He was definitely more handsome than his brother, more muscular and certainly more charming. She must be as dull as her date or blind not to notice that. 

Stannis Baratheon having a date was one thing to behold. But to have Janna frigging Tyrell as his date was astounding. What the fuck was going on with the world? As it pains me to admit it, she's fucking gorgeous and Stannis is practically a gargoyle. Why the fuck would she choose Stannis as her date? 

There was Jeffory Mallister with his incessantly stupid grin with doe-eyed Ryella Royce. Catelyn's sister Little Lysa with that stupid Elbert Arryn with his cheap Supercut hairstyle. Victarion Greyjoy's plain face macking with that midget Lia Serry. The youngest of the Starks with Lynesse freaking Hightower. What is going on with the world?

She had expected Jaime to have gone to the dance with someone worthy of him. It had been a giant surprise that he went with Melara Hetherspoon of all people. That traitorous, freckly, plain-faced bitch!! 

There wasn't much to enjoy about the dance at that point. Robert was off ogling and hitting up the girls who "bravely" showed up anyway. Jaime was off dancing with Lynesse freakign Hightower now. Victarion Greyjoy dancing quite smoothly with Lyanna Stark. Brandon was practically dry humping his date Barbrey with the way they were moving. 

And I was just sitting idly by, barely enjoying myself.

"Hey, you okay?" 

It was then she had turned her head up and saw his face. Benjen Stark. His face was kinda grim like his brother Ned and seemed to be awfully weedy. But his smile and bright blue eyes held a fraction of the charm that his older brother had. Small dimples by his cheeks. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" she said almost derisively. Not wanting any pity, especially from a freshman. He certainly seemed like one. A sophomore at best. 

"Dunno. You just looked kinda lonely and pissed. Date blow you off or something?"

"He kinda wants to blow everyone at this point."

He laughed. It was a rather hearty laugh. I barely realized just how dirty the joke was and started to laugh with him too. 

With little time, they started talking about everything from what they liked to their families. She talked about her favorite uncles; Tyg and Gery while he talked about the antics he had gotten into with all of his siblings. Apparently, there were some things that the self-proclaimed "Wild Wolf" wouldn't do and the so-called "Silent Wolf" would do. Strange. 

How and why they ended up going to the limo, she could barely remember. I remember saying something about wanting to talk somewhere more private but there was little talking. His smile quite inviting, and eyes shining, there was little reason for her to practically jump and kiss him. 

It was clear that he was inexperienced. His lips were soft but uncertain. He probably didn't kiss a girl; or at least, properly macked with one. Maybe he was hoping to have a makeout sesh or two with Lynesse? But that didn't matter. In mere moments, her breasts had popped out of her bright purple dress and he began to gently fondle them while she unzipped his pants.

The fact that she had taken someone's virginity was quite amazing. Being in that sort of control and power. How she ridden Ben and milked him for _everything_ that he was worth. The way he held her hips as he just took it all, and the face he made when he squirted all over inside of her. It was exhilarating. 

Even after that, he was eager. But he had been a fast learner. And gotten more of a dirty mind when he gently asked for a blowjob. He definitely enjoyed being under my thumb. The look on his face as I looked at him while blowing him. It was close to worship. And another cum face. 

With each time he got a tiny bit better. From how he suckled on her tit, to gently teasing it with his teeth. Spanking my ass while I rode him again. Kissing my neck as he fucked my ass. 

Sweet. There was no doubt in her mind that he was a sweet guy and a sweet lover. Now, if he just wasn't a freshmen, I might just go out with him.


	188. Party Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern!AU  
> Party boy Renly accidentally/for the lulz gives his brother Ecstasy, then must try to keep him in line while dealing with a Stannis who smiles and emotes.

It's bad. It's really bad. 

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea! 

_"C'mon, Stannis! Don't be such a party pooper!"_

_"Renly, shouldn't you be studying for your college midterms?"_

_"Already done with them. Right now, we all need some time to relax and unwiiiiind!!"_

_Stannis then gave out a heavy sigh. "I guess it's alright then. But this better not get out of hand. I don't want to hold your hand while you throw up or anything!"_

_You really need to chill, Stanny!!_

_"Alright, alright! How bout you have a drink yourself? A nice margarita or something!"_

_"Just give me a lemonade."_

_"Fine, you prude!" he said, as he put a small pill of ecstasy in it._

_Have fun, brother! he thought as he saw Stannis practically chug the lemonade._

* * *

_This is sooo weird!_

_It was one thing to see Stannis smirk but ... smile? And ... dancing?_

_Well, if he could call it dancing. He was mostly fist-bumping in the air. And some of his movements were basic; almost caveman-like. But the fact he's dancing was ... amazingly strange._

_Wa-wa-waitaminute? Who's that girl he's with? Is that ... Lynesse Hightower? What the hell is she doing with Stannis?_

_"Ohmygod, Stannis, that is sooo riiiiight!!"_

_"Right? W-W-we need to just stop arguing and accept each other, and love each other for who we are!"_

_When did Stannis preach about peace and love on the planet Earth? And why is that not a song? No, wait, focus!_

_And ... they're making out?!! WHATDAFUQ!!!_

_Oh, good God! I really need a fucking drink!_

* * *

_It's one thing for Stannis to be kissing a girl. Lynesse is pretty damn hot with her golden hair and cream-coloured skin. Hell, he's lucky to have kissed her. But **two** girls?!!_

_Janna Tyrell. Janna Motherlovin' Tyrell. She's a freaking bombshell with her_ _thick, softly curling brown hair, slender but shapely figure,big beautiful brown eyes and ... a banging chest. The fact she's sitting so damn close to him only proves one thing: maybe God does exist. Or he's having a field day with my brother!!_

_Stannis is nowhere nearly as good lucking as I am but two girls in one day? OHMYGOD!!_

_"I had no idea you were so deep, Stannis. And you're right, there are times where, like, the universe is like telling me to, like, give up, y'know?!"_

_"I know! But w-we, we got to persevere, and like, fight through it! Otherwise, life wins, y'know?"_

_"I KNOW!!"_

_Aaand ... they're macking. Yup. Seriously, hot and heavy macking. Crap, she's like a hummingbird, jamming her tongue down his mouth!_

_EWWW! My brother has tongue in his mouth!!_

What to do? What to do? What am I going to do?!

"He-Hey! What's up, Renly! How you been, baby bro?" 

Robert's home already? 

"He-Hey! How you doin' Robert? I'm, uh, just, having a little party!"

"Seems more than a little party goin' on here. Hey, where the hell is Stannis? He would never let you have a party like this!"

"Midterms ended, and he seemed to understand, for the most part!" he said nervously. 

Glaring. He's glaring at me! Robert's actually glaring at me! Oh, man! This is not good!

"Renly. Where. Is. Stannis?"

"He's, uh, around. Last I saw him, he was making out with Janna Tyrell." he squeaked out. 

"Janna Tyrell? Stannis? Making out? NIIIIIIIICEE! Waitaminute! What did you do to him?"

"I, uh, um, kinda, sorta, slipped a hit of ecstasy in his drink?"

"YOU FUCKING MORON!!! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?!!" Robert all but yelled in his ear. 

"Stannis was ruining my vibe and the good times we were having! And how is it any different from when you got him drunk that one time?"

"That was different. I actually wanted him to loosen him up a bit. Did you think this was funny?!"

" ... A little bit?"

Suddenly, he felt a strong force hit him straight in the jaw that he fell back from his chair. 

"IDIOT!!"

Robert then went charging to the deejay and punched him. "EVERYONE!! PARTY'S OVER!!"

The fact that Robert of all people was telling them that the party was over, was more than enough to get them all to leave. 

"Ungghh! I don't want to go! I wanna like, spend the night here with Stannis!" Janna practically drawled out as she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"You should spend the night here!" Stannis said, strangely like some surfer dude. How much ecstasy did I give him? 

"Stannis, this isn't you."

"Y'know, maybe this is me? Like, I rock. I rock like you rock, Robert! Y'know, I think I finally get you! Th-this is, is ju-jus-just ssooo awesoome!"

" .... Renly, could we keep him for a little while longer?"

"Robert!"


	189. Set-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's never an easy thing to do; sending your daughter out to prom.

 This was super strange. No one in their right mind would actively set up their own daughter with a date. Not only to prom, but in general. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Myrcella was a beautiful young girl who easily attracts attention with her beauty and grace but also her wits. But boys don't pay attention to that much. 

When she told him that she was going to be going to prom by herself, the first thing he asked was if she was going stag with a bunch of her friends. But she mentioned that all of them are going with dates. Prom is fun but it's a lot more fun with a date. 

So, with a heavy heart, he decided to set up his daughter. That part was hard. It couldn't just be any kid. 

Like that notorious Greyjoy punk who'll hit on anything that moves. That Arryn kid seems nice enough, although painfully shy. He hung around Tom more then he did with Cella. Hell, I'm not even sure he likes girls. The Stark boy seems to spell out trouble. The Tarly brat seems a decent enough lad. The Martell lad was the reason they had broke up; apparently he decided to go to an exclusive military academy and had to leave early. 

And that's when lightning struck. Two new fresh-faced recruits from the Academy had been sent to train under his wing. And it was good time too; Garrett and "Little" Lew had grown and become proper officers. The new guys seemed to be quite runty. Both of them just about eighteen or so. 

There was Podrick Payne; who's straight dark hair practically covered his eyes and was quiet as a mouse. He was good but a bit clumsy and rarely talked; often stuttering out a quiet thank you for anything. His friend, Josmyn Peckledon, who proffered to be called "Peck", was definitely more livelier than him. Amiable and courteous, confident but not cocky. He took his training far more seriously and seemed to have a good sense of judgement. 

That in lay the difficult part. I thought the difficult part would be weeding out the creepers in who would be good enough for Cella. How do I approach this without coming off weird, creepy or stupid?

So, he told Peck that he had a special mission for him. And he smiled and said, "What's the mission, boss?"

He sounded so ecstatic until he had told him. With a little bit of reluctance, he said okay. Although, it was apparent that he was blushing and sweating through his teeth. 

That was a week ago. Cella was still getting ready and not that thrilled that I set her up with a fresh-faced newbie, or anyone at all really.  And Peck was nervously pacing and muttering. Peck shaved off the tiny bit of stubble growing on his chin and neatly combed his hair. he definitely looked better than before.

Just as it seemed that he was about to run, Cella had come down. If the boy was blushing before, he was crimson now. The same with Cella too. Both of them just stared at each other mindlessly, like a pair of zombies debating on who gets the bigger brain. 

"Uh, uh, um, HI! I mean, hi. I'm Josmyn Peckledon. But my friends call me Peck for short."

"Um, uh, hi. Hello. I'm Myrcella Lannister. But most of my friends call me Cella for short."

"Cool"

"Yeah, cool"

" ... Y'know, when your Dad told me about you, it's just, uh, you're not what I expected to be!"

"Well, what were you expecting?" she said teasingly. 

"In all honesty, when he said that "my daughter's as pretty as me", I kinda imagined a slightly younger version of him ... in drag ..."

What the ...? Little brat!!

Myrcella then giggled. 

"Well, I can't say that you're anything that I expected you to be. I thought you'd be some roided up douchebag reeking of Axe bodyspray and hair-gel!"

"Hey! I work out. I might not have the body yet, but I'm getting there!"

"No, no! That's not what I meant! I like ... your ... body?"

"Umm, thanks? I think?"

Ughhh, kids. 

"OK. That's enough. You guys both know the rules. No handsy, no touchy. You bring her back home at 11:00, no later than that!"

"DAD! Prom doesn't end until 11:30!"

"FINE! 12:00 then! Just don't do anything stupid and have a good time."

"OK! Bye Dad. Take care of yourself!" 

"And Peck, remember. I do have a gun!"

"DADDY!"

"OK, OK. Bye, pumpkin, I love you!"


	190. A Grey Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all of his children's failure's, there was hope in his grandson Theon.  
> (Obviously, No Greyjoy Rebellion)

Many had thought the Iron Fleet belonged to the Old Way. Reaving longships that had once enriched those men lucky enough to own a ship in the fleet or know someone they could serve with. Salt wives and riches had abounded among the Lords who were the only ones that could afford ships of their own to begin with - wood to build was expensive and rare on the Iron Islands.

Until Quellon Greyjoy. A strange unconventional Lord that spoke rarely and observed everything with a quietly measuring gaze. It was the Greyjoy's desire to see his people be more than beasts clinging to old glories on rocks in the sea that had spurred him to reform the society of the Ironborn one painful step at a time.

Thralls torn from their owners and freed to either settle on the Islands as freedmen or to be returned to the greenlands they were stolen from. The wealth of those that had made gold off the backs of slaves and cheap labor dried up with the freedom. The old religious binding of Ironborn and salt wife ended by the threat of the blade, with hundreds of Greenlander women released from glorified sexual slavery. The economic dominance of the old families broken by the use of every ship commanded by the Lord Reaver in fishing and transportation.

Wealth found its way into the pockets of those Lords that had seen the winds of change and into those of common people. No longer replaced by thralls in the mines, and given the opportunity for lucrative employment on the seas, the impoverished people of the Iron Islands couldn't help but whisper of Quellon's golden touch.

There was too much of the Old Way bred into the Islands for them to change so easily. The most treasonous agitators were given to the Drowned God, but Quellon could hardly silence everyone. Over generations, the viciousness of the Ironborn might have been tamed into the more civil ferocity of the most Northern of the First Men.

Quellon was alternatively adored and hated among the Ironborn, even if the old Lord was still considered the wisest Greyjoy that ever lived among the Greenlanders. Though, he was more familiar with the words his own sons had thrown at him at times. Spineless. Soft. Pandering. Naive. Stupid.

Quellon had contorted his stern craggy face into a smile. That Theon was the old Greyjoy's favoured grandchild was no great secret, though few understood how such a thing had come about. It was not as though the lad would confess to having reduced to hiding from his brothers' beatings in Quellon's study, and Quellon himself had never told anyone of the day he'd discovered a young boy crying beneath his desk. They only knew that one day the two had been nearly strangers, and the next practically confidantes. 

_'There is a great difference between fear and respect, Theon. The people of the Seven Kingdoms have long feared the Ironborn, but they've never respected them.'_

With each passing day, he had taught his young grandson every thing he had known and learned in his years. He had even overseen his training at Dagmer Cleftjaw's hands. The boy is a skilled and natural rider and an absolute demon with a bow. And with enough time, a revered captain at sea. 

_'He who wishes to be obeyed must learn to command. Until you look a man in the eyes and hear his voice, you can never truly know his heart. To tame a heart, you must understand it. Otherwise you may find yourself deserted by those wild hearts you never bothered to recognize when the blades close in.'_

Of all of his children's failure's, there was hope in his grandson Theon. Balon clings to all the ignorance of our forefathers. His own son Maron steadfastly and stupidly following his father with ferocity and viciousness. Victarion, little more than a dutiful simpleton. His own son, Quenton, eager and willing to follow his father like a sheep to the slaughter. Aeron is more than half mad. Euron ... he could never understand on where he went so wrong with that boy.

But Theon ... he is quick and clever, most like himself in thought and deed. Had he been Balon's eldest, rather than the brute he has, he would surely make a great Lord of the Islands. Asha, his beloved and only granddaughter, is better than them, but still too wrapped in her pride and set in her own unique ways. 

_'Do not fear small minded men Theon. They are easily moved to rage and violence by things they have no capability or desire to understand. Simply because Ways are Old does not make them better. Do not shirk change if it may be good.'_

The Seven Gods of the Greenland Andals urged parents to love their children and for children to revere their parents. And for years Quellon had  _tried_. Tried to love his sons. Tried to teach the boys to be decent men that would respect their elders, support one another, and acknowledge that the Old Ways needed to be changed.

And he had failed on all accounts. Balon was a bloodthirsty fool that hated his own father and lusted to reave as if they still lived in the dark days of the Hundred Kingdoms where war was the first recourse rather than the last. Aeron was once a self-serving fool, now an addled priest that routinely tried to drown men deemed of insufficient faith in the Drowned God. Victarion was dutiful at least, but still a murdering brute. And the less said of Euron Crow-Eye, the better. How on this good world could he have loved sons like that?

Quellon Greyjoy was a man of salt and iron. Many a man had fallen before his axe when Quellon had been younger and more willing to sing the song of the Drowned God. A song of violence and victory and conquest on his lips as he pillaged foreign ships in the Narrow Sea and along the shores of Essos. The morality that Quellon had passed down to Theon – iron and unyielding and stern, but  _good_. He could bring the Iron Islands the glory it wants without spilling a drop of blood. 

With the approval of his gooddaughter Alannys, he had sent out his favorite grandchild and only granddaughter to the seas. Find their own fortunes and path. Far beyond the Iron Islands. Far beyond the small hand and reach of their own father, his own blood.

_Asha. Theon. Please, stay safe, my children._


	191. Amber Waves (Theon/Arianne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Lord Quellon Greyjoy decides to make his grandson a prince. ... But not the kind he thought.

It was quite strange to say the least. He had liked the new title he had though. Prince Theon. Although, not Prince Theon Greyjoy; Prince Theon Martell. 

At the insistence of his lord grandfather, he had been sent to foster to Sunspear in Dorne. It was strange. The foods were filled with strange spices and often burned his tongue, the lands far too foreign and the people much too strange with their different skins and voices. But they were friendly, if not a bit weary of him as he was of them. 

The Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell was a quiet and somber man often in thought. His younger brother Prince Oberyn was more livelier and wild with a thirst for life. The young princess was quite beautiful if a bit pudgy with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair. And she had several bastard cousins whom she loved dearly. Obara, who was more of a brash warrior that eerily reminded him of his elder brother. Nym, who had a deadly grace and beauty to her. And Tyene, golden and beautiful even at such a young age. Sarella, an exotic beauty of the Summer Islands and Dorne. 

Later, the younger Sand Snakes had come and grown. Little Elia, named after Dorne's late and brief Queen. Lucos, the only boy in a myriad of girls. Dorea, a little menace with her morningstar. Loreza, shy and sweet for a girl her age. Unlike the older ones, the youngest had their mother; Lady Ellaria Sand. Easily eye-catching with an exotic flair, Ellaria is undoubtedly strong and brave and gentle. 

The youngest prince, Trystane was like his cousin Lucos, often following others around like lost dogs. But they're good boys nonetheless. Although, he barely knew or even met the eldest prince, Quentyn, from what Prince Doran had gotten from his letters from the Yronwoods, he's a sensible and dutiful lad. 

But duty is often the furthest thing from the minds of the Dornishmen. Not the kind of duty that plagues the Southrons or the Iron Islanders. At times, he had thought that his grandfather should have sent him somewhere different. Mayhaps Casterly Rock or even Winterfell in the North, or even the Eyrie. 

Freedom. They valued their freedom more than honour and duty, but they still knew and had it. It was a strange feeling to comprehend but he had it. Mayhaps, that is what his grandfather wanted from him; for him. He learned to ride a horse, handle all manner of weapons and surprisingly enough, learned how to sail from the Orphans of the Greenblood. The boats they used were not the longships a captain would use, but useful and essential nonetheless. He was ironborn; and ironborn know how to sail and manage a boat. 

But he often wondered if he was more Dornishman than Ironborn at times. But it might not be such a bad thing. Ironborn and Dornishman are fierce warriors and prideful to say the least. But he felt more like a Dornishman when he was with his princess. 

It had begun when he was little more than three-and-ten and she was six-and-ten. It did pain him a bit to know that Daemon Sand had taken her maidenhead before, but mattered little. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her. He loved her sense of adventure and her temper that was as fiery as the lands she would one day rule. And he loved how he could act wild and astute around her without shame. She didn't even seem to mind when he had bedded Sarella, when she had come back from a trip to Oldtown. She never felt the need to shame him if he had the desire to bed her or Tyene; simply tell her. And mayhaps, have a grand time altogether.

When he had asked Prince Doran for her hand in marriage, he had thought that the old man would say no. But instead, he said that he needed to ask her. And that filled him with more dread. So, with heavy heart, he had pledged his love to her and asked her. She gave a slight smile first. It made him rather uneasy; making him think she was going to say "no". Instead, she gave him a kiss and said, "I most humbly accept, my Squid Prince!". That might've been worse than her rejecting him. She knew that he hated being called that. 

They had been blessed with three children in their years of marriage. Their oldest and youngest sons; Garin and Baelon. And their own little princess Raya. Their Golden Princess and their Black Princes. The might and strength of iron and sand within them. 

To bear the Martell name had been strange, but his own people might think him queer either way. Either way, he felt proud to bear that name instead of Greyjoy. I and my children will be unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.


	192. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany notices her betrothed seems tense, so she sends Irri over with orders to "relax" him like she's always done for Dany. Jon, however, won't take advantage and he'll only consent if Irri lets HIM "relax" HER (which also actually relaxes him), which Irri is all too happy to do.

The new khal is strange. Far too strange. More stranger than the Khaleesi when she first met her. 

Her silver hair and purple eyes. It made her look unlike of this world, or the next. Next to her, her khal looked rather ordinary. But it is known that he is not. Her new khal almost reminds her of Khal Drogo; with strong intense eyes. And just a little older than her and the Khaleesi.

But he is smaller than her first khal. But also fierce as him. Scars near his eyes, and others hiding beneath his cloak. The way he moves in a fight and sits on a horse; he could be Dothraki. Although, he is quicker and as her khaleesi calls him ... "graceful" when he fights. His people of the North love him. 

She knew that Khaleesi was to marry her new Khal; this Jon Snow. Which made what she ask of her all the more strange. To help him ... relax. There is something great and powerful within their eyes. Everyone can see it. So, why did she ask this of her? He did not seem like he never had a woman before. But he still act nice toward them. 

And so, she did as her Khaleesi asked her. But her new Khal, Jon Snow did not want Khaleesi's gift. He seemed almost like the ice he talked of in his home. She had tried to relax him as Khaleesi asked of her, as she once did to Khaleesi several times before. "Please and relax him as much as possible, Irri. Use your mouth on him as you once did for me. From what I know, all men enjoy that." 

Yet, he did not want that. Instead, she had felt _his_ mouth on _her_. It was strange. Far too strange. Khaleesi had done that once to her, she thought. But this was different. It was ... nicer somehow. She felt tears of joy sprinkle her face and her body tighten. 

Fast. So fast things had happened. His lips. His fingers. His hands. Touching ... everywhere. His tongue ... digging deep into her. And then he was inside of her. He did not need to ask yet he did so. She had felt tight everywhere and then not anymore. Tired almost. She did not want to move. It was bizarre. But she liked it. Is this what the Khaleesi meant for him to feel though: relaxed? It is a good feeling.

It was then she had looked at him again. She did as her Khaleesi asked and relaxed her Khal. Now asleep, he looked less like a fierce Khal and more a boy of her age. Strange it must be. But I did as Khaleesi asked me to do.


	193. Where Wild Wolves Roam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The white winds may blow, but the pack always survives.

There are days that he remembers and reminds himself that he doesn't deserve this life. Winterfell. Catelyn. Lordship of the North. That it was all meant for Brandon. That mayhaps, he should have been the one to ask for justice from the Mad King instead of the Wild Wolf of the North. 

But even he had to admit that his brother was foolhardy. Especially at Harrenhal, how he lorded over the fact that he "let" him have Ashara Dayne of Starfall. His father had once said that if all man does is spread his seed, he'd be pulling weeds for the rest of his life. 

While he loves his family, and his nephew (lest anyone find out), he had made the intention to find and ensure that his brother's progeny were taken care of. He had knew that he left a few Snows scurried around the North, that was certain. Mostly on commonborn women. But when his own men had found that he left more than just Snows, he knew that it was his duty to his family, his brother and the women that they needed to be taken care of. 

The Snows would be easy to take care of. None of the women had been particularly demanding; especially since they were noble born and their children had been born during a time of war. A Hill. Two Stones. A Flower. Two Storms. The whole lot of them sired during their time at Harrenhal. It was both surprising and haunting but Brandon always took what he wanted. A Foote, a Moore, a Wydman, a green-apple Fossoway and a Swann and Robert's cousin from Estermont. Joseth Hill, Robert and Jon Stone, Arnell Flowers, Shaena Storm and Jon Storm.

It was quite surprising that Robert had not raged that his cousin birthed his brother's bastard. Mayhaps he did not care, or she passed off the child as her husband's? It's all the more surprising that his brother had not sired a Rivers under Lord Tully's nose. Or mayhaps he had and had taken great pains to ensure that Catelyn never found out? He could not tell. What he did know and hoped for one day, is that they would find their way home; to the North. 

* * *

It was almost fitting bearing a copper dagger by his side. It is the sigil of his mother's house. Hells, at times, it was all he needed.

While his family did nothing to ensure his future, he did not mind or care. His uncle Philip Foote, had trained him personally and saw to his education for the most part. All his mother did was stare at him, mumbling on how he looked like his father. Barely doing a thing. He never knew much about him, just that he was a knight of some renown and died in the Rebellion. 

His uncle had often praised and told him that he would be a great knight and that Tywin Lannister should have brought him to King's Landing and sworn into the Kingsguard. But as much as he wants to, Tywin Lannister does not rule the world and couldn't give a raven's shit about him or anyone else who wasn't a Lannister. 

At the very least, his uncle had done him a boon by knighting him. Although, he all but threatened to "de-knight" him when he told him his plans on where he was going. I will be a warrior, but not here. You did always tell me that the Wall is filled to the brim with bastards, uncle. It's the perfect fit for me.

* * *

There was no turning back now. They had departed from Gulltown less than three days ago. 

As much as they wished and hoped to be like the proud lordlings of the Vale, they knew in their heart of hearts that they never could. At the very least, the could be warriors. Brave and true as anyone could be. 

Freshly knighted and wanting to prove their worth. Either die like a common sellsword or dies with some sense of honour and dignity at the Night's Watch. Even it meant fighting and serving alongside rapers and brigands. 

"Ready, Jon?"

"As ready as you are, Robert!"

No turning back now.

* * *

"Must you go, my boy?"

"Yes, I must, mother."

"You have so much to offer than simply going off to the Watch and die. It's not as noble as the stories I told you when you were a boy!"

"I'm all too aware, mother."

"Then, why go, Arnell? You could be a great knight of renown, the next Barristan the Bold. Or be the master-at-arms at New Barrel."

"I want to be more than a knight of known renown, and there are many others who could be the next Ser Barristan the Bold. Like the ever-famous Knight of the Flowers, Loras Tyrell."

"You are just as, if not better than Loras Tyrell. He could learn a thing or two from you."

"I'm certain he could have. But I am a Flowers, and flowers can grow and bloom anywhere if given the chance. And what better place to do that than the Wall?"

* * *

It was almost a shame really. He almost didn't want to leave. But he knew he must. 

Few of his family had the ability to stomach him. He never did knew who his father was, but they way they all stared at him, he must have really slighted them somehow. That glare, as if they hated him.

Jon was not stupid, he knew that he and Errol did not come from their mother's husband, no matter how many times she insisted. Not to mention, Errol looked too much like a Baratheon that no one really needed to guess on who his father was. 

The only one who could at least stomach him was his cousin Andrew Estermont, and he taught him everything to know about swordplay, and made sure that his mind was as sharp as his sword. 

But right now, there was no turning back. Storms persist anywhere. Even in a place as cold as ice. 

* * *

"Ser Endrew! Good morrow!" 

"Good morrow to you to, Lord Snow!" the kind master-at-arms said. 

He then took note of the boys that had gathered around him. Fresh-faced new recruits with the smell of summer. Yet, something was rather eerie about them. A dangerous glint in their eyes. One a grinning loon

"Who are these young men?"

"New recruits for the Watch. Came by themselves. They're much like you, Lord Snow. Mayhaps, you'd like to show them a little something while I go try to shape up the rest of them?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Ser Endrew."

One of them had bright curly brown locks and dangerous amber eyes; the look of the southron knights that Sansa loved. One bore sea-green eyes and big bushy brown eyebrows that almost hid the danger that lay in his eyes. One had shoulder-length rust-coloured hair and dark grey eyes and narrow cheeks that made him look rather wolfish. The other two had neatly trimmed brown beards and looked a bit like brothers. Something about them all was strange, but by the time he'd be through with them, they'd be warriors of winter. 

"Shall we get started?"


	194. Comfort (Pia/Gendry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We could all use a little bit of comfort in our lives. Sometimes.

She once thought that some day, one day, she would have Ser Jaime as she imagined more than once. To feel his smooth skin and his golden curls. But that was just a dream. But she never thought that she would bed a king. At least the image of one. 

She faintly remembered King Robert back at the Tourney. But he was just Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End back then. He was undoubtedly handsome if not loud. Strong muscles cording his body, a neatly-trimmed beard on his jaw and rich blue eyes. She remembered once having served him ale, he told her that she would grow to be a very pretty girl. She had blushed at that. 

The boy that came to Harrenhal was clearly his son. Or a living ghostly memory of him. Although young, he was already becoming quite muscular. A broad frame and barrel-chested as Robert was; but a bit leaner. She often saw him working in the smithy with Lucan. The moment she sees his chest bare, sweat trickling down from it as he beats down on a piece of armour, she feels positively perverted. 

Yet, for all of his looks, he doesn't seem to be like Robert Baratheon was. There was no doubt that he was handsome with a simple charm to him, whenever she got close to him in any way, he seemed flustered. Blushing like a maiden, almost. Whenever she tried to talk with him, he often mumbled in his breath before leaving blushing and flustered. But like all ghosts, he left. 

She didn't feel like a pretty blushing maiden after the Mountain had shoved his fist into her jaw. She felt ugly and defiled. When Ser Jaime had come back and declared that no one would harm her anymore, all she could do was cry now that the Mountain's inglorious reign had been done with. Even when Ilyn Payne had slain one of the Mountain's Men, she only felt a small amount of comfort. 

Nothing could comfort her like before. Not even sweet little Peck. Handsome with brown hair and his lean body. She liked how his words stammered around her; making her feel wanted. But that was not enough a comfort. Even with his fingers daintily touching her and the amount of times they had fucked. It wasn't as enjoyable as before. Something about it felt hollow. And it wasn't because Jaime Lannister was nearby.

When the camp had been struck by the Brotherhood without Banners, she felt fear take over. She had heard that it was now lead by a fearless hate-mongering outlaw by the name of Lady Stoneheart who hated anyone or anything having to do with the Freys. Ser Jaime was no where in sight; having left with some large blue-armoured knight some time before. Most of the men had been killed, like Ilyn Payne who had been taken down swiftly and brutally; his head decorated a pike they raised up in glee. The rest like Peck and Hos Blackwood had been taken hostage. 

As they came their way to a new camp, she felt even more scared. A large man had a helm in the shape of a snarling hound approached her along with a one-eyed man with a pothelm came by her. The Mad Dog of the Saltpans. 

"Well, ain't she a pretty little thing? You like fucking Lannisters?"

"Of course she does. Pretty little golden pricks they are and have. She ain't been with a proper man!"

Fear. She felt fear take over. Her body stiff sand unmoving. 

"Don't you think on hurting her!" she heard a voice. A familiar voice. 

It was then that she saw him. He was taller than before, his black hair longer and messier, his shoulders broader and coarse black stubble covering his jaw. 

"Oh, c'mon. She's a nice lil' slip of a - "

Then and there, a loud punch echoed through the small camp. The man all but flew into a tree and his pothelm along with it. 

"Anyone hurts her and you answer to me! Understand?!"

The deep tremble of his voice, the ferocity of it. He looked like a true warrior instead of some brigand. Acting like a proper knight. He almost looked like a proper knight or lord with the way he stood tall and proud with a sword by his side. 

"M'lady, please come with me. There's a tent for the washerwomen and the like for you. You'll be staying there for the time."

His hand was rough and calloused but gentle. The way he had held it was ... indescribable. Suddenly, she was reminded of Robert Baratheon's comment on how she would grow to be a pretty girl. It made her heart beat fast and feel like a maiden once again. 

"Should anyone mistreat you like that again, m'lady, come straight to me. The Lady might not be here right now, but that doesn't mean that an innocent woman should be harmed. Not on my watch. They know that I can easily cave their heads in if I wanted to."

She simply nodded her head and he made to leave after a small bow. He does know that I'm not a proper lady. But yet, it feels so nice. 

Like Harrenhal before, she watches him again. He had grown so much. The way he bellows out small orders like to set up the tents. The way he lets the squires and knights roam freely around the camp. He had even taken to training with them, putting Garrett Paege and Peck into the dirt and flat on their arses. She had seen him with his hammer with such ferocity and the way he swings his sword almost the same way. Her heart beat faster and harder then his hammer on an anvil. 

It's a stupid idea being here. But she was here already. There was no turning back. His tent was a bit more spacious than the others and quite comfy. Just as she began to leave, he had shown up.

"M'lady? What are you doing here?"

"My name is Pia, m'lord. I'm not a lady. Well, not a proper lady."

"Well, I'm not a proper lord, so no need to call me that. Call me Gendry if you like."

"Gendry," she said. It felt nice to call him that again, and on more friendlier matters. "I just wanted to say that I remembered you from Harrenhal. And that, I wanted to thank you, for what you did for me."

"I just did what any knight should have done, Pia. No man should be harming you." 

What was going to happen? Would he reject her like Ser Jaime did? Or just respectfully decline her? Should she go back to Peck? Her sweet Peck, who had done her no wrong? But Peck was a noble; a squire but noble nonetheless. They wouldn't wed anytime soon and she's far too old for him. 

"Bards should be singing and praising you for what you did. Not many knights would do as you did."

"Well, they aren't true knights then. That's what they should do; defend those who can't defend themselves." 

They were closer. Far more closer than she expected. He was beginning to blush like back at Harrenhal. 

"Ugh, my lady, um, I mean, Pia, I thin - "

Swiftly enough, she kissed him. His lips were dry and rough but it felt nice. It felt quite strange leaving this boy, no, man breathless. 

"A true knight like you at least deserves a kiss as a reward for saving a lady." she said softly. 

She then kissed him again, but she felt him kissing her back. His hands gently placed by her face while her own had firmly gripped his shoulders. Soon enough, they began to remove each other's clothes as he gently guided her to his furs. His hand wandered down from her full breast to her equally full bottom. Her own body soft and voluptuous pressed against his body made of firm muscles. His hand slowly caressed and squeezed her thigh, guiding her on top of him.

When he entered her, she was surprised by how full and large he was. Though, with how fast they had removed each other's clothes, she barely deigned to properly look at it. Almost frantically, she began pushing her hips harder against his. Rather than try to match her movements, he gave himself over to the sensation. 

She placed his hands onto her supple breasts, almost burying it there, steadying herself with it in her rocking efforts. “You’re the truest knight alive.” She closed her eyes, feeling such a true and real pleasure, reaching a sense of ecstasy. He then started rotating his hips again instead of simply thrusting and felt herself throw her head back and gripped his hands tighter. He then removed one of his hands and reached between her legs, where their bodies joined and placed his knuckles against her cunt. It was surprising at first, but she picked up on what he might have wanted to do and adjusted his hand a little to her liking.

More and more, she felt herself lost in the sensation, her forehead wrinkled slightly, barely understanding just what was happening. Her body shaking so suddenly,she gripped his hand painfully hard. Both of them let out a desperate moan and she simply felt herself collapse onto his broad chest. 

For the longest time in a while, since she was little more than a slip of a girl at Harrenhal, she felt comfortable. Safe. She never wanted that feeling to go away.


	195. Of Storms and Hills (Myrcella/Edric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks they're Robert and Cersei again. They're wrong though.

She had faintly remembered her mother talking about him several times. Her father less so, barely remembering his name. Often calling Erich or Maric, as she had heard once or twice. 

She and Tommen often wondered about their half-brother; Edric Storm. The only thing that they really knew about him was that he reminded everyone at Storm's End of their father and their uncle Renly. She often thought with Tommen that he would have been a better brother than Joffrey. 

The first time they had finally met was just after the Second Long Night, or the War of Winter as many called it. He looked much like she remembered Robert Baratheon. Tall if not a bit lanky, bright blue eyes and an easy charm to him. As well as a small scar by his chin. With the exception of the large Florent ears, he looked like what everyone described the Demon of the Trident to be. 

But they are not brother and sister as she and Tommen had thought. A stranger really. Both of them barely knew anything of one another. She bore so much information on the man that was his father, it was so strange. Yet, the one thing they had in common was that they had barely had a family. He had all of Robert Baratheon's bastards as siblings, but each one of them far more different than him. And she only had Tommen, Uncle Tyrion, and other aunts and cousins she barely knew. Oh, and Shireen, of course. They may not be cousins anymore, but she was still her family. 

Having so much in common with him was far too strange. Having more in common with him than Trystane. So, it surprised herself and others when their betrothal broke and she had wed Edric. Now the both of them were Baratheons. And Tommen wed a Martell instead of her; or rather a Sand but still of Martell blood.

Rumours had already gone about that they would be Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister come again. But they're wrong about that. Charming and witty as he is, Edric is also very smart and makes sure to hone his skills as a warrior. Although, he found himself disappointed that he couldn't wield a warhammer as Robert Baratheon did once before. Gendry would still hold that honour. She made sure to keep the court of Storm's End as lively and as warm as possible. 

Storm's End had always been a mystery to her. She had lived most of her life in the Red Keep and had only visited Casterly Rock once when she was young. She had heard tales that Durran Godsgrief had built the castle to ensure that his wife, the child of the Gods of the Winds and Storms, would be safe. It had stood tall and proud with a eerie sort of beauty. She learned to appreciate that beauty with him. And the beauty that he had. They won't ever be their fore-bearers.


	196. Named

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, what's in a name?

He couldn't help himself from looking at the little babe. It had reminded him of his four sons when they were like that. So helpless and in need of him. Now, they were all running roughshod in their new home at Cape Wrath like the little rapscallions they are. 

Already a Baratheon through and through. The babe's eyes were half-closed but he could tell that they were blue. Though, not the dark blue of his father. It was lighter, but that may change when he gets older. And his black hair was a small but messy mop that almost made it look like he fell into an ink bottle. 

"Your son is already growing into quite a looker, m'lord. Surely charm many ladies that come his way once he gets older! Yes, you will!" he said playfully at the child. The little babe gave a small smile. 

"Hopefully, he won't be like Robert in that regard." Stannis said, brusquely as always. 

"I had heard that Lady Delena had blessed you with two sons. Twins, actually!"

"That she did. Hopefully, they will grow tall and strong and do our family proud."

"So, which one is the one I'm trying not to drop?"

"My heir. Delena is already tending to our other son. She had decided to name him Colen, after her uncle, I believe."

That's always been a nice sentiment. Though, you wouldn't want your children to live the exact same lives as their former fore-bearers. Although, he at least hoped that Dale would be a good man like his father. 

"If you, don't mind my asking, m'lord, but what's the name of the little tyke?" he said with a smile as he looked at the baby boy. 

"That's where Delena and I have had a disagreement. I already let her name one child, I should at least name the other one to my own liking." 

"What do you plan on naming the boy? I've heard that names are rather important for the little lords."

"I had the idea of naming him after my father, Lord Steffon. But Delena had made the point that one of my ships in the royal fleet had bore that name already. She also had some ideas to name him after some other relatives, such as Ryam or Alester or Axell. The fools, most of them. I wouldn't want my child to fall down that path."

"So, what did you have in mind to name the poor boy? Hopefully, not Poor Boy!"

"Delena asked me to name our heir after an honourable man. And that's why you're here, Ser Davos. For you hold Lord Daven of House Baratheon of Dragstone in your arms."

Daven? Daven?? Honourable man? "Uh, um, m-m-m'lord, I-I d-do-don't know what to say!"

"You may have been a smuggler, but you have remained an honest and honourable man. And I hope my own son is like that. Though, I do hope he doesn't learn much of your trade, Ser Onions."

Little Daven then gave a squeal of delight. 

I know little one. I feel the same.


	197. Responsible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With great power comes great responsibility, I think. I'm not sure here.

Out of all his children, Ned is the last one he ever expected to get this news from. Serious, responsible Ned who was often too mature for his age. Ned, who never did anything stupid. Ned, who had just told him he had gotten his 18-year-old girlfriend pregnant.

This was, honestly, something he expected from his eldest son Brandon. Brandon, who went through girls like they were Kleenex sheets. Hell, I've seen as many or more Kleenex sheets in his garbage than Ned's. Brandon, who often got back and leave Barbrey Ryswell over and over for the past two years. Who likely brought all of the girls in his school in his house. 

He definitely worried for Lyanna more as she was in this situation too. His wild and sweet Lya. Who had gotten herself involved with the newly admitted history teacher. She and Catelyn, Ned's girlfriend were beginning to swell at an almost even pace that it scared him. 

Every fiber in his being is telling him to admonish his always-responsible son. Ned had always been his sweet, dutiful and reliable boy. If there was anyone of his sons he could count on, it was Ned. Ned, who's promises were as good as gold. Ben would always be around to help out in any way he could. But Brandon ... he could make a grandiose promise one day only to forget it the next day. 

Ben. Now, he worried more for his youngest. He was only just learning of his own interest in girls. And from what I know, he seems to have an interest in Walter Whent's niece, Alys. And I know that his own daughter was impregnated by Lya's stupid ex and Ned's friend Robert. 

Should I worry more for Bran and Ben now? I probably should. But right now, my sweet Ned needs me now. My sweet boy who never got in  any kind of trouble in his life and shaking in fear of his life; desperately holding on to the hands of his beloved girl and beautiful girlfriend. 

~

This was one of those times he really wished he had his wife next to him. She would know what to do, what to say. Because when his firstborn tells him she's having a baby, the only thing he can think of is that he wants to kill her boyfriend. But that's clearly not what his daughter needs right now.

Catelyn is shaking more than the boy. The only real thing that was stopping him was Brynden's insane grip on his shoulder. 

He looked on the bump that was growing on his daughter's belly. She was definitely glowing. It reminded him so much of Minisa, how she swelled with child and glowed with each one she bore. But that had been a nightmare up until the last one. 

Edmure looked confused but excited at the prospect of being an uncle at his age. Lysa. He didn't know what was going on with her given the strange face she was making. A cross between a grimace and a smile of sorts. Her eyes sporting a sense of jealousy and chastisement. Ever since he caught her nearly having sex with that Baelish boy and forbade her from seeing him, she barely talked to him. I never liked the way that he leered at both of my daughters. Especially how he practically undressed Cat with his eyes. 

I've seen that look far too many times. And that boy gave me the creeps. But not Ned Stark. He seemed the honest sort of boy. Though, he half expected his daughter to have been dating the older one, who had been getting tutoring from her. Definitely a livelier sort than his brother, and more of a man's man than his brother. No offense to his daughter, but she could do better than Eddard Stark, or Ned as he liked to be called. Far too quiet for his liking and practically a dullard. 

But his daughter liked him, and he did seem a bit more livelier when around Cat. Polite, well-mannered, and respectable. Edmure seemed to like him, as Cat and Ned tutored him both in math and science. He was certain that his own boy had shared his opinion on Brandon Stark until he said that he was a "big d-bag" too good for her. Lysa shared his opinion on the boy for the most part. Calling a "dull but nice enough guy". If there was anyone who actually enjoyed the boy's company wholeheartedly, it was Brynden. 

Brynden, who disagreed on any opinion he had. If I said the sky was blue, he'd say it was grey. If I said it was a bad day, he'd say it was the best day of his life. The moment I decided that I didn't like the boy, Brynden said he liked him. And took great pains to know the boy himself in standing buy his opinion. The two seemed to get along well enough, often talking and laughing about things that they didn't seem to tell me. He half-expected his brother to want to punch Ned Stark's stupid face in with him. But, he could easily agree that when the time came for a clear head and a conscious decision, he could rely on Brynden for that. 

It was then his brother gave him a look. A look that told him everything he needed to know. That one look told him every thing; _Fight your instinct, Hos_. Yeah, I really want to punch that boy. But I know that Cat absolutely loves and adores him. I've heard her say it in her sleep. Frankly, if it was that Baelish, I know that Brynden would be telling me to punch him with every fiber of my being. 

But that's not what anyone needs. Right now, I need her to know that I'll help and support her in any way that I can. And no matter what, she'll always be my little girl. My Cat.


	198. Second Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Steffon Baratheon and Tywin Lannister along with Hoster Tully and Rickard Stark arrange a betrothal between Robert and Cersei, and Brandon and Catelyn, but things go awry as Robert and Brandon run off to become sellswords leaving Stannis and Ned as Steffon’s and Rickard’s heir and to fulfill the betrothal.

She should have hated it all. But she didn't. For that would mean that she hated her husband. And she couldn't do that, no matter what. 

At first, she had been quite ecstatic at the betrothal. The heir to Winterfell and the North, Brandon Stark. He had been so charming, so tall, so handsome. She had eagerly made stitching of wolves, hoping that he would like it. Began to learn more of the North. And then, all the excitement had turned into bile. 

She wanted to scream and cry when she had heard that Brandon had left not simply Winterfell but Westeros as a whole. He had been sighted getting on a ship headed for Lys. She had heard her father saying that he was hopefully "sowing his wild oats on some poor Lyseni whore". But two moons had passed and there was no word of Brandon. 

Lysa had told her it was likely for the best. "If he leaves now, imagine how it might've been if you and he wed and then had children. He wouldn't just leave you, Cat." Edmure told her just how sorry he was that Brandon was not as gallant as he thought him to be. _I was too, brother._ And Petyr, Petyr had just told me that Brandon was no good for me and tried to kiss me. I didn't want to think of another man. 

The name Stark had been cursed for some time in her household. She had thrown the favor she had made into the fire that heated her chambers. That was until, she had heard of a new betrothal for her; to a new Stark. At first, she wanted to rave on how her father could think of betrothing her to yet another Stark. But she said nothing, and her uncle quickly dissuaded any notion of that. 

"Well, he's the heir now. His name is Eddard Stark; Lord Rickard's second-born son. And frankly, his father and all of the northern lords have nothing but good things to say about him, Little Cat." Her uncle could always sooth her doubts and worries, but his words did not work their magic like before. All she thought was another wayward wolf, itching to leave her. Did he hate me so, the betrothal? Will this one leave as well. How many wolves will I have to meet before I breed a litter for them?

But with a heavy heart, she had decided to give this wolf a chance. A different sort of wolf then his elder brother. Eddard Stark, or Ned as he liked to be called, was far more different than his elder brother. His frame was leaner than his brother, and was slightly shorter than him. His face a bit more rough-hewn with the beginnings of a beard neatly marring his jaw, and his eyes a darker shade of grey with none of the playfulness and mischievousness of Brandon. He seemed shy, or simply did not know what to say in comparison to his brother, who was more eager and ready to talk. So, she had decided to start the talking by formally introducing herself to him. 

Within moments, they had talked. Even his voice was different than his brothers. It was deep and masculine as Brandon's but there was a softness to it. His grey eyes seemed a bit softer the more and more they talked. It was then she realized another difference between the two brothers. Brandon did indeed talk about his family like Ned did, but with more a passing tone before talking about his exploits in the North and only that. Ned had talked in depth of his family, the North itself, his fostering in the Vale with Lord Jon Arryn and his foster brother Robert Baratheon, who had also left Westeros to join a sellsword company. 

"My lady, I am ... sorry. For what my brother had done. I ... know that he was meant to marry you. And I know that I am nothing like him, but I ... I promise to be a good husband to you."

Was that why he wasn't talking before? That was what made him uncomfortable? Barely a day, longer than any time she had spent with Brandon and she already found herself falling for him. 

"And I promise, I would be a good and dutiful wife to you, my lord."

"Ned. Please, my lady, call me Ned."

"Well then, Ned, I ask that you call me Cat."

"Cat."

She liked the sound of her name coming off of his voice. She felt her heart melt. Already, he proved himself more gallant than his older brother could ever be. 

And it hadn't been just herself that he left an impression on. Edmure certainly liked him much more than Brandon, all the more when Ned had helped him with his archery. Lysa commented that he was "dull" in comparison to his brother, but quite nice. Uncle Brynden like him a great deal and had a friendly spar with him, while helping him improve on his swordsmanship. The only person who did not seem to like him happened to be Father. "He seems a nice lad, but I don't trust him one bit. His brother was a charming and gallant fool. He might be one too!"

She wanted to tell her father that he was wrong. Ned was good and kind, honourable and gallant. More so than his brother. He had more honour in his finger than Brandon did in a strand of hair on his head. But she could not doubt his reasoning. And suddenly, her head was clouded with doubts. 

Yet, she had written to him anyway. His words brought comfort to her. They were not overly long, but concise and to the point; asking about her and the comings and goings of Riverrun. Often, he would talk about the remaining time in the Vale and his time spent getting to know the North and its lands. She knew by now that he was no tourney knight and found them to be rather frivolous, but promised to one day test his mettle against other knights to try to crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. 

 _You're wrong about him, Father. He's not Brandon. He's far more better than him._ Every letter they wrote to one another made her heart beat faster. The time they spent together was short, far too short. She yearned for another visit. Another kiss from his lips, that he surprised her with. Sweet if a bit chaste. Some would say appropriate. But she wanted to feel them again. 

When word of the Tourney of Harrenhal had made its way to Riverrun, she had wanted to go. Every great house, large and small, would be in attendance, including the Starks. Including Ned. But Father had been hesitant, especially since all of the Starks would be there: Brandon had returned to Westeros, if only for a moon. 

But she cared not for Brandon. She wanted to see Ned, not him. And so, with a heavy heart, she disobeyed her father and made her way to Harrenhal. There, she had met his siblings; Benjen and Lyanna. Benjen was a walking bound of energy for a boy of Petyr's age. Lyanna did remind her of Brandon in a way, with just how lively and wild she was. But her eyes were the same shade as Ned's and had a share of courtesies in spite of growing up the way she did, as she explained herself. 

Ned. Ned had grown more handsome in their time apart. His shoulders a bit more broader and a full beard neatly covering his jaw. It made him look more like a man. And then there was Brandon; who bore a stupid grin as if saying "I didn't do anything wrong". Well, he did one thing right, he gave me to someone better than he was. 

He was irksome. The way he had been talking to Ned. She barely knew what it had been about, but with the way he kept eyeing and pointing at some of the ladies, he was likely encouraging his brother to be unfaithful. There was little doubt in her mind that Ned would not do that. But the doubts came back when Brandon had brought Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall to Ned. And Ned looked uncomfortable and blushing. _Damn you, Brandon._

Ned began to spend quite a bit of time with Lady Ashara. Talking and laughing quite a bit. It was then she went up to Brandon and slapped him with all of her might. 

"OW! What the hell was that for?!"

"You nearly ruined everything for me and my house, _Ser Brandon_. And here you are now, ruining things again. Why don't you do us all a favor and leave Westeros, for good!"

"Wolves need to roam free, my lady. And my brother will be howling by the end of this tourney!" he said with a laugh. This was the man she was supposed to marry. A man who gave little care to the consequences of his actions and just whom he had hurt in the process. 

She should go up to Ned and stop him. But he didn't seem to do anything with her. And she could not do such a thing, less she draw too much attention to herself and reveal herself. So, she decided to talk to his sister and younger brother. And his good friends, Ser Elbert Arryn; heir of the Vale, Ser Willam Dustin; heir to Barrowton, Mark Ryswell and Ethan Glover. 

"You're being stupid. And frankly, Brandon is being more stupid if he thinks Ned would do anything like that. Whenever he came to Winterfell, you were the one thing he often talked about. It was quite sickening, really!" Lyanna said with a laugh. 

"You managed to come up in any conversation we've had, along with my uncle.  I've known the man long enough and love him like a brother. Trust me when I say this; you have nothing to worry about, my lady!" 

And they had been right. Nothing had happened between Ned and Lady Ashara. From what Ned had told her, she had simply given him a small kiss on the cheek and bid him good fortune in their upcoming wedding. But things at the tourney had taken a turn for the worse when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty. Ned and the Starks had decided to leave. But not without another kiss; it was longer and a little less chaste and she wanted it too last longer. But there was a wedding to wait for. 

The moment had come rather fast after a myriad of events had happened. Prince Rhaegar had decided to take on Ned's sister Lyanna as a second wife, Aerys' health had begun to rapidly decline, and Lysa was to be married to Jon Arryn's heir Elbert. The duel had been the worst of it; Petyr decided to foolishly challenge Ned to a duel for my love and honour. Ned had easily accepted and both came to the lower bailey of Riverrun. Ned had looked angry; especially given all the japes that Petyr had been making at his expense. Petyr had shown up wearing only a helm, breastplate and mail, leading to Ned taking off most of his own armor. 

Everyone had expected the duel to be quick, but Petyr was persistent and Ned was surprisingly patient in stalling him and more than easily knocking him down. Yet, Petyr wouldn't yield. It wasn't until they reached the riverbanks of the Tumblestone that it had reached it's end. Petyr had several cuts and bruises on his arms and face while Ned had none anywhere. One final chance to yield that Petyr should have taken but refused. That foolishness cost him dearly as he all but ran into Ned's sword after he had struck his shield off his arm and struck at him.  

Ned had insisted that they hold off on the wedding to properly mourn Riverrun's young ward. Few had mourned Petyr, much to her surprise. Edmure was fairly saddened, her father had grumbled, and Lysa had shed a few tears. But once their wedding had come, nothing else had mattered. 

It was a grand affair, as to be expected. The bedding ceremony had greatly surprised her, with many men grabbing and ripping at her dress. While the women had excitedly removed Ned's clothing and teased him. Once they were in their chambers, she had felt a bit frightened. But Ned wouldn't harm me in any way. When the actual bedding came, it was rather strange but gentle as could be. Though that tension had quickly been resolved as they decided to have another go at it. 

Winterfell was as ancient, powerful and beautiful as expected to be. It had been hard at first, adjusting to it all. But Ned had helped her adapt to the snow and the cold that she almost feels like a true Northwoman at times. Watching their children grow and run roughshod all around the castle. Robb, who was his father with mostly Tully features, but could see the Stark within his features. Sansa, who was her in miniature, a perfect lady at five namedays. Arya, who Ned claimed was his sister Lyanna in miniature, wanting to be a warrior more than a lady of her station. Their little Bran, reminded her so much of Ned in so many ways. Rickon, whom Ned believed was his older brother in miniature, wanted to do everything his older brother's did. Hopefully, he'll have more sense than his uncle. Their wards, Lyanna's son Jon Tagaryen, she often thought was so much like Ned in his looks, thoughts and actions. The Greyjoy boy, often irritated her at times, with the way he smirked. It reminded her of Petyr, at times. Joffrey Baratheon, heir of Storm's End, was an amiable lad if not a bit gruff at times. His uncle in miniature, but truly his father's son.

As much as it pained her to do so, sheeven found the heart to begrudgingly accept and find acceptable homes and places for some of Brandon's bastards. Ned did say that wolves belonged in the North.

There was no life I could have wanted more. There'e no one I could want more. This is more than I could have asked for.

* * *

This was not the life she had imagined for herself. Not a thing. But it is nice to say the least.

Father had told her from a young age that she would one day wed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. That she was meant for great things. But that had soured when the Mad King had declared that she was not worthy to wed the Crown Prince. She felt crushed. But her father had assured her, saying that it was a minor setback. 

But that had changed as well. She did not know just what her father had planned. Instead of trying to wed her to Rhaegar, he then decided to betroth her to Lord Steffon Baratheon's eldest son and heir, Robert. He was handsome, she could not deny that. Quite rugged already for his age. Quite tall for his age, messy black heir, and bright blue eyes. Mirthful with a loud booming laugh and a bright smile. She nearly fell in love with him. 

He told such fantastic stories about his time spent in the Vale and his family at Storm's End. Of Lord Arryn, and his foster brother, Ned Stark. His anxiousness and excitement to be a big brother to the newest addition to his family. He certainly knew how to tell and spin a tale. 

Eventually, that dream had gone away as well. Lord Steffon had been sent to Volantis to find a worthy enough bride for Prince Rhaegar. He along with all of the men that came to sail with him, had perished in Shipbreaker Bay. His lady wife, Lady Cassana, had been beside with grief. And Robert Bratheon, for all of his smiles and fury, had holed himself up in Storm's End. One day, he did not come out of his chambers. But eventually, it had been discovered that he had left the castle and went off to somewhere in Essos. 

Lady Cassana had told her father that the betrothal would still happen. Only now, she would wed her second-born son and new heir; Stannis. Robert had talked little of his middle brother. Just that he looked like a gargoyle and had the personality of a lobster. He was certainly more serious than mirthful. It made him look all the more plainer with his simple garb. His eyes were darker that they nearly looked black, and his hair was short and neatly kept. 

Their conversations had been rather awkward at first, He clearly never talked to another girl before that hadn't been his mother. He was rather gruff in conversations, not comfortable with small-talk. Or not used to it. But the way he talked about Storm's End and it's history, made him seem like a maester to talk about it with such wonder. It reminded her of her love for the Rock. 

On one of her visits, she had decided to be bold enough to kiss him. On the cheek at least. It's her favorite memory; seeing his serious face turn beet red and stammering like the fool that survived. His hair practically stood on end! 

But seeing him with little Renly made him quite endearing. Like almost everything, he was quite awkward with his little brother; who smiled at everything. He watched over him like his goshawk and gyrfalcon. Fascinated almost by the helpless thing. For a moment, she thought of her insipid little brother, Tyrion. Did her mother and brother look at him like that? I might just be happy with him. 

As the Tourney at Harrenhal presented itself, she saw her father growing all the more anxious about something. He seemed almost giddy. When she asked, he told her that an opportunity would soon present itself, and that she would be queen. It had brought a pang to her heart to be Rhaegar's queen. But that was a dream, nothing more. Much like she knew that she and Jaime couldn't keep doing what they've done since they were children. We're not children. But she knew that her father was planning something on the king and the princess most like. Why else would he have been walking with such assurance and confidence. Is he a powerful lord or a giant fool; believing that I could have been Queen?

It had been quite a surprise to see Stannis at the Tourney itself. Even though, by his own words, he had described them as "frivolous affairs". And he had brought his little brother, Renly, so that he could see all the lords and knights. The one thing that had surprised her, was Robert Baratheon's sudden return. She had heard that he had met with the former heir of Winterfell in Pentos and had joined the sellsword company, the Second Sons, together. Almost fitting. 

He had grown tremendously. Far larger than his brother or Rhaegar, towering over them. Muscled like a maiden's fantasy, smile bigger than ever, and a neatly-trimmed beard that covered his jaw. Had he not been man enough to endure, she would have easily been excepting of him. Next to him, almost everyone looks plainer by comparison. She almost thought that Stannis looked drab compared to his brother. but that wasn't fair to him. Stannis didn't abandon her or had been a dream. He was real and good. 

It was almost irritating to see him charming every lady in sight. From Lord Whent's young maiden daughter, to how he drooled over his foster brother's sister; Lady Lyanna. She was certainly pretty enough, but not beautiful. When Robert had come to charm her, the only thing she could do was entertain his notions at the very least. But she quickly noticed that he was mostly glaring at her bosom. As she decided to get away from his leering, he all but cornered her; pressing himself against her body. 

"C'mon now, luv. Can you honestly be happy with my dour brother? He wouldn't know a good jape if it bit him in the arse!" he said with a laugh. She could feel his crotch press up against her. "My brother's ugly as sin, not even a man! I doubt he could give you anything you want and need, my lady!" he said with wine filling his breath, as he breathed on her neck. 

Robert was handsome, that was certain. He had grown more handsome in his return; all the more rugged. But Stannis was quite handsome too. His hair was not a bit longer; neatly framing his face. He had been learning to smile more; which made him all the more endearing. While not as muscled as Robert, he is certainly fit and imposing. 

"From what I can tell, my lord, he is certainly more of a man than you!" she said, as she gave him a good knee to his groin. Robert then groaned as quietly as he could, not to draw too much attention to himself as she made her escape. She had met up with Stannis and talked for most of the tourney. He had told her that most of the stormlords were not happy with Robert's sudden decision to return, much like the northmen with their former heir. 

As the tourney progressed, all the smiles soon died as Prince Rhaegar had soon gave the crown of blue roses to Lady Lyanna. Every thing after had proved rather eventful. Prince Rhaegar's decision to take on Lyanna Stark as a second wife, Aerys' health had begun to rapidly decline, and her father finally deciding that Jaime was to wed Lady Lynesse Hightower, shortly after Rhaegar had overturned his father's decision to name Jaime to the Kingsguard.

Her own wedding happened far sooner than Jaime's. Stannis had been quite in awe at the sight of the Rock. All were really. She was not expecting Robert to return and make a fool of himself again. All the more to everyone's displeasure when he had been found on top of Lady Selyse Florent. The bedding had been awkward. It had been rather strange to bed someone that hadn't been Jaime, or Prince, King Rhaegar for so long. But, we quickly grew accustomed to one another. Although, it took much prodding to get Stannis to be a bit more ... adventurous.

Soon, she had given birth to a son; an heir. Stannis had wanted to name him after his father, but that seemed to pain him. So, she had decided to name him Joffrey. Renly cooed at his nephew, asking to play with him. Lady Cassana would come by, smoothing his little mop of hair and pressing kisses on his cheeks. He was undoubtedly a Baratheon but with hints of Lannister green speckled in his deep blue eyes. And he certainly had her nose. 

Eventually, their little herd expanded. Two years after Gendry, she gave birth to Myrcella and Tommen. And like her and Jaime, they grew as close as can be. But not as close as she and Jaime were. Soon after came another set of twins, Shireen and Damon. What did bother her was that the bastards that Robert had left behind needed to be accommodated somehow; as he had disgraced not only himself but several other noble ladies than Selyse Florent. Some of them; like Edric, had been sent to Dragonstone per the order of the king. His eldest daughter, Mya, had stayed in the Vale; closely watched over by Lord Arryn. 

He's a good husband, a good man and a good ruler, but his courtly skills were still lacking. At times, it felt as if she was ruling the Stormlands at times. She said this once and had expected a rebuke, but he only said: "As you should. These are your people now and you are their lady" It pleased her greatly. 

The children had brought her great joy. Joff had resembled Robert so much she often feared for him at times, but was more often than not his father's son. Myrcella and Tommen looked a bit more Lannister with their dirty blonde hair and sea-green eyes; like Lady Cassana's. Myrcella had the innate Baratheon stubbornness through and through while Tommen often followed his elder brother; trying to match his brother in prowess. Shireen was clearly the most intelligent of all of them, in spite of her young age. And Damon was already proving himself to be the warrior Renly often boasted to be. She actually saw much of Robert in her children before; the boy he was and the ma he could have been. But they really are their father's sons. 

It had pained her a great deal to send Joff away to foster in the North. Stannis may not have known Lord Eddard as well as the man knew Robert, but he could not deny that he was a good man. And he needed to learn to be not only a good lord but a good man.

Dreams are not real, as much as we want them to be. And if this is a dream, i do not want to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassana Estermont was not with her husband when the Windproud sank.
> 
> Brandon and Robert left around the same time to become sellswords; 279 AC.
> 
> And Joffrey is not actually Joffrey; it's actually Gendry bearing Joffrey's name.
> 
> Joffrey (Gendry) Baratheon: 284 AC  
> Myrcella Baratheon: 286 AC  
> Tommen Baratheon: 286 AC  
> Shireen Baratheon: 289 AC  
> Damon Baratheon: 289 AC


	199. For Her Honour, Not Mine Honour (Theon/Jeyne W.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Theon didn’t betray Robb and was in his campaign with the West. Theon finds Robb abed with Jeyne and offers to wed her in his place to keep him from earning the Freys ire. How will it affect everything? How will Theon deal with his new lady wife being in love with his best friend?

It was far too strange. Having a wife. He never really expected it. Well, at least, not so soon. Lady Jeyne Westerling slender of posture, armed with chestnut curls, a heart-shaped face, and brown eyes. And his wife. But little more than a few weeks ago, she had been a conquest. Robb's very first conquest. 

The moment that he had heard of his father's plan to invade the North, he immediately set sail back, but not without managing to gather some recruits for himself with Dagmer's help. He had came back to Robb, renewing his fealty and had made that he sent a number of Northman back to defend the North. But apparently, that did not stop his father's men from attacking and burning Winterfell, from the news that the ravens brought back.

Likely, it was because of that news along with his injury, that he found her in pretty Jeyne's bed. It was quite a sight to be honest. Robb was still on the bed looking rather content while Jeyne's body pressed to his; their heir disheveled along with the sheets. That was when he noticed the red stain. 

If it hadn't been for some quick thinking, I'd be dead and Robb would be in more pain. He was truly his father's son; wanting to do the right thing by Jeyne. Right, but stupid. He would easily lose the Frey's support. It was then and there, he decided to take on Jeyne Westerling as a wife. She had said yes to his proposal, reluctantly and shyly. And with that, the Westerling's small forces had joined theirs. Her mother was clearly enraged at the thought of it. Her younger sister and brother Eleyna and Rollam had been fairly friendly with him, but wary. Likely because of the fact that I'm ironborn. The eldest and heir to the Crag, Raynald, had easily welcomed him with open arms, but quickly enough threatened him not to hurt his sister. 

He had to admit that she was quite pretty. Robb had done some of the work, so she wouldn't be so tight. It was well within his rights to. But the moment that he saw her, he didn't. As pretty as she was with her slender frame, chestnut curls, heart-shaped face, big brown eyes and breasts large as apples, he simply couldn't. As much as he wanted to take her like an ironborn would, he was her husband first and foremost. And she was still a rather frightened young girl. 

So, he had decided to try to get to know her at the very least. She is rather witty if a bit shy at times. She always had a shy smile but was undoubtedly kind. She easily befriended some of the soldiers and some of the northern lords. GreatJon Umber and Lord Tytos Blackwood had taken quite the shine to her. Ser Patrek Mallister even commented on just how pretty she was and that she was too good for me. He might be right on that part. She was no great beauty like Sansa would grow to be or even the famed Margaery Tyrell, but was certainly pretty. 

Her company was enjoyable to say the least. Even though she acted scared of him at times, or as if he would harm her. He could tolerate it at best. But he could barely contain himself when she stared at him. Robb. It was at those times, he wanted to strike him. He had taken her as a wife, and Robb had reluctantly apologized and thanked him for his effort. Robb didn't want anyone else to fix his mistakes, and yet, he had willingly done so. And in doing so, he had earned Jeyne's affection even more without having wedding her. Gods, he wanted to hate him, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. He would do anything for him, and he knows that Robb would do anything for me. 

Robb was his brother in everything but name. A brother he liked and wanted. But whenever Jeyne looked at him, all the hatred and frustration he ever felt toward Rodrik and Maron, he felt toward him. Is it not enough for you, my lord? The moment he saw Jeyne and Robb talking and laughing, he felt the urge to notch and shoot an arrow at him. That was until she came up to him. 

"My lord. I mean, Theon. I had just, I uh, um, I wanted to tell you for some time now, actually. That is, I, um. ... Thank you. Thank you for treating me well enough, as your wife. I know that most lords would not do so. And I know that I have not responded well to you before, but I promise to be a good and true wife to you. And well, that's all I wanted and needed to say."

In all of his years, he never felt himself blush so much. So much so, that Patrek came up and teased him. He then punched the man on a knee-jerk reaction, shocking his little wife and making her blush and laugh at the sight. It was ... endearing to say the least. 

When he came back to his tent, he was not expecting Jeyne to be there. She had been sleeping with her little sister in their own tent. She was fully naked, and beautifully splayed out on the furs. 

"I don't think we have fully and properly been husband and wife, my lord," she said with lust filling those big brown eyes of hers. She then took his hand and pressed it onto her breast. It was very firm and unyielding. Her teats were a bright shade of pink. He then looked at her heart-shaped face and saw a smile more lustier than any whore that greeted him. She then kissed him fervently that he felt his head swim. They might've been the most softest lips he's ever felt and tasted. 

Quickly, both of their hands made their way to remove his clothes as fast as possible. Within record time, he was undressed and on top of her; kissing her from the neck down. Hearing her moan in pleasure had quickly spurred on his cock, making it hard in an instant. The moment he entered her, she nearly screamed. Pleasure or pain, he couldn't tell and nearly slid out of her. Until she had grabbed his back and hoarsely whispered in his ear not to stop. He kept thrusting into her, hearing her moan into his ear kept spurring him on more and more until he spilled himself deeply in her cunt. 

That might've been the best fuck he ever had. But then nasty thoughts had easily crept into his mind: was Robb better than me? She was a maiden then. But they had been in her chambers all throughout the night. She wasn't as tight as expected to be. How long were they at it? How long did they do it for? Yet, those thoughts seemed to go away as soon as she nestled her head by his shoulder. And he then found himself stroking her back soothingly, almost on instinct. 

Suddenly, they had all found themselves heading to Riverrun for old Lord Hoster's funeral. Soon after, an emissary for the Freys had shown up, asking Robb that the marriage should occur now, as he is the only male left in House Stark. Though, if things do go wrong, he knows that Snow would be Lord Stark with Robb's approval and permission. But Robb agreed, stating that the idea bore fruit, and negotiated a betrothal for his new lordly uncle. Lord Edmure had not been happy about that. Patrek had soon told him that his father had arranged a betrothal to a Frey as well. 

"I know one thing though. Mine, Edmure's and Robb's wife aren't stoats like the rest of that family. Said that they saved the best ones for us. Hopefully, they're just as if not prettier than your wife, Greyjoy!" Patrek said with a smile. 

"Fat chance, Mallister. My wife will undoubtedly be prettier than yours!"

As the unique triple wedding came, he had found himself paid handsomely. When Jeyne asked what was it about, he had told her and she had a laugh. As he saw Robb looking nervous, he then saw Jeyne look at him with an uplifting smile. That seemed to raise Robb's face a bit. 

"I do need to ask. Do you still love Robb? You can tell me. I won't harm you."

"I care for him. I'm fond of him, as is the rest of my family. Except maybe my mother and uncle. But no, I do not love Robb. But I do wish him all the happiness in the world. I do not like how we ... happened, but I'm glad it did." she said with a small smile. 

"I am too," he said with a crooked smile. He then looked to the sept where Robb's bride to be had appeared. She was certainly smaller than him but quite lovely. Might be lovelier than Edmure and Patrek's wives. Fair Walda was certainly a beauty with her slender frame with wavy flaxen hair, a pointed nose, strong cheeks and a small mouth bearing a playful smirk. And Alyx had something of a foreign beauty to her mixed in with obvious Frey traits. But compared to the future Roslin Stark, they were practically kitchen drabs. My wife definitely beats yours. Mallister. 

 _My wife_ , he thought, as he looked at her then and there. _Mine, and mine alone._


	200. The Son, The Sister, The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Arryn and Catelyn have a quiet little moment together to talk about the strangers they've married.

It was far too strange. She had thought that she would be marrying Brandon right now. It was a foolhardy thing to do and say, but somehow, she allowed herself to hope that Brandon would come back in time for their wedding. But instead, she had been given news that her brave and gallant betrothed had been killed by the Mad King, alongside his father, Lord Rikard. 

And now, here she was, married to the new Lord Stark of Winterfell; Lord Eddard. She had imagined and hoped that he would look like Brandon. But he is lean where Brandon was broad and more muscular, solemn and guarded whereas Brandon would easily find cheer and merriment. And much more long-faced that on first glance, he practically looked like a Frey. And so quiet and morose. Brandon would likely be smiling, even now. 

But she had not been the only one to gain a husband. Her sister Lysa, who had spent her days moping around the castle since Petyr left, had been wed to Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale. In the gleam of his blue eyes, she could tell that he had once been a handsome man. His shoulders still strong and broad but his face had not aged very gracefully as it was quite wrinkled with hard lines on his forehead and laugh lines by his mouth and cheeks. 

Though, she knows that he has suffered as well. His simple nephew, Jasper Waynwood, had perished alongside Brandon and his other companions. And a gallant cousin of his had recently perished on the field of battle at the hands of the Mad King's Hand, Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost. Although, it would have made more sense for his nephew and current heir, Elbert Arryn, to have set aside his Tyrell bride and marry her sister. Although, they had married before the Rebellion happened and recently as well. It would have been an insult to the Tyrells to have done so. 

Nearly all of them looked so morose. Lysa sulked about while Jon Arryn looked uncomfortable around her and went off to talk to her father. And her husband, he didn't even bother talking to her. It just made her think of and miss his brother. The man who will always have my heart. How could he have such a plain and dour brother? Lysa might be right. He is a bore. 

"May I talk to you, my lady?" 

She looked up and realized just who it was. Lord Jon Arryn. She felt flustered and taken aback. 

"Oh, o-of course, my lord." she said as courteously as possible. As much as she pitied Lysa, the man was her good-brother now. He did seem a good man, if not uncomfortable in marrying Lysa. He looked more uncomfortable than Eddard. 

"What is it you would like to speak to me about, my lord?"

"Ned. Or rather, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Your new husband."

Of course. She should have suspected such a thing. She had heard that her husband had fostered in the Vale with Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon. 

"Robert and Ned are the only real reason why I'm fighting this war. I have no children of mine own, so the two have been like mine own sons."

"I understand that sentiment, my lord. Before he had been sent away, my father had thought of Petyr like a son. I know he did." 

"Up until that foolishness with Ned's brother, Brandon. Yes, I had been made aware of that. I also been made aware of his rather gallant promise to come back to wed you after he came back to the Red Keep and rescue his sister Lyanna."

How dare he mock Brandon! How dare h - 

"And yet, you seemed to have forgotten that Lady Lyanna is not only Brandon's sister. She happens to be Ned's as well. He always spoke of his sister with such fondness and love. And when I saw the two arm in arm at Harrenhal, while his brother made a drunken fool of himself, along with my other boy, Robert, it was the most sweetest sight I had ever seen."

Brandon had often talked about his sister and his youngest brother Benjen on occasion. But he mentioned little of the man who came to be her husband. Other than him being " a dreadful bore, my lady. Honestly! You wouldn't like him, even if you wanted to!"

"You may not like to hear this, or want to hear it, but of all of Lord Rickard's boys, he was the most proud of Ned. I know that he was loath to part from him, so soon after the death of his lady wife, but he did so anyway. He might not be the soul of pageantry as his brother, but he is the soul of courtesy. 

Like I told you, my lady, I'm fighting this war for my boy. Frankly, if Ned had been better at negotiating, you would be having a child groom as I now have a child bride. I had told this to your father, and now, I'd like to tell you. I raised my banners for Ned and willing to go to war for him. He has been hurt far too much in such little time. Don't you dare hurt him." 

She almost wants to chastise him for threatening her and her father. Yell at him for all but insulting Brandon's name in front of her. For chastising her as if she were a mere child. But the way his blue eyes pierced into her gnawed at her. And she also realized that he had been right. She likely had been distant to him as he was to her. And he has lost more than she had. I lost a betrothed, he's lost most of his family. I don't know just how I would act and be if I lost Edmure, Lysa, Uncle Brynden and Father. How alone he must be feeling. And I had promised to be a good and true wife to him mere moments ago. 

"I understand, my lord. And now, I would like to tell you something. I know that the idea of marrying someone as young as my sister is strange, if not revolting. And if you do anything to hurt her, I will not hesitate to strike at you." she said with a cold fury. 

But Jon Arryn did not falter. Instead, he gave a kind smile and his eyes were understanding. 

"I do hope your marriage to Ned will be happy and bountiful. I know that if I survive this war, I will look forward to holding my niece's son and my grandnephew's own child, if he bears one."

"Oh, yes. I had heard that Ser Denys had a son. What had his wife, your niece, named him?"

"Martyn Arryn. Strong name for a strong boy. I got word from the maester that he had barely survived. And remember, my lady." he said once again, giving her a cold stare with those piercing blue eyes. 

"I know, my lord. I know"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 200!!


	201. River's and Storm's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of Littlefinger's dad, Hoster Tully befriends Steffon Baratheon and decides on fostering his second son Stannis who falls in love with his second born daughter Lysa.

He had never thought that this would happen. Not in the slightest. 

When he had first met Lord Steffon, it had been during the Ninepenny War. He and Brynden and Lord Steffon had come across the body of a young valeman who had laid down his life for him in the heat of battle. He was a strong and amiable enough man, given the situation he had been put in; having lost his father in battle and taking up his van. Still, he had proven himself as a warrior and a lord within the span of an hour. 

It was then and there that the bargain had been struck. That Lord Steffon's second-born son would foster in the halls of Riverrun. Although, he did question whether or not he would have a son at all. Steffon simply replied; "I'll make sure of it, my friend!!", with a hearty laugh. 

Soon after Edmure's birth, Stannis Baratheon had arrived at Riverrun. His daughters stood tall and proud as they greeted his new ward. His wife Minisa quickly and eagerly welcomed him to their home. Brynden quickly commented him on how much he looked like his father. Eight-years old and already a serious boy, if not a bit solemn at times.  He took to his lessons with Maester Vyman like a cat to a mouse. He already began to excel at his swordsmanship with Ser Desmond Grell. Ser Desmond even commented that he could be fit for the likes of the Kingsguard; if he keeps it up.

One thing that perturbed him about the little lordling, was that he did not like or want to be close to anyone. He seemed to prefer to be by his lonesome. Either training himself with Ser Desmond until he exhausted himself and went to his chambers, or spent his time reading in the library. The boy was likely homesick. Frankly, he did not know what to do with that. 

But his daughters seemed to know. It had taken a great deal of prodding, but they managed to get him to talk a bit more. Often at times, he would see him with his daughters by the river, his feet gently soaking in the water. He still looked serious as such, little joy on his face. But there was something close to merriment on it. 

It is Lysa who seems to bring him out more. He half-expected it to be his little Cat; who had been good at nearly every task at hand she was given. His youngest daughter, so innocent and beaming with her bright smile managed to soften him up a bit. He did not smile like her, but there was an occasional smirk or grin on his face whenever he did partake in any form of amusement. Even if it was still in the confines of the library. 

When Minisa had died trying to give him another son, he felt himself broken. Catelyn had quickly taken her place as the lady of the castle; taking to the task with ease and grace. Stannis had been by his side like a rock, offering condolences and stating on how much of a good woman she was. She was more than that, lad. Lysa and Edmure were far too young to understand such a thing; that their mother was gone. Or so he had thought. 

He had heard Lysa crying; pleading to the Gods to giver back her mother. It happens to be Stannis' shoulder that she is crying on. He doesn't say or do anything; simply let her cry her eyes out. In that moment, he's stronger than him and Catelyn. Like the cliff-side during a treacherous storm. Strong and firm. He then noticed him saying something to his daughter, which soothes her even more. 

It is there he had noticed a great change in Lysa. For one thing, she did not play as often as she used to. Rather, she spent her time at the library with Stannis; learning her histories and trying to understand her sums better. Vyman had told him that she was learning more from Stannis than himself. "The boy's trying to oust me from my position, my lord!" he said jokingly. 

Stannis might've easily ousted out both Vyman and Desmond if given the chance. The way he taught Edmure was a bit more brutish in comparison to Ser Desmond's teachings. His son and heir had whined a bit before he took charge and listened to what Stannis had to say to improve. He certainly listened better to him than anyone else. At times, their was a faint, small smile on his lips when he heard such things. It didn't look like the forced thing he saw when he first arrived.

Things had noticeably changed when Lord Rickard and his eldest sons Brandon and Eddard had come to visit. He had a thought out a betrothal to Cat and Rickard's eldest son Brandon. He was a bold and gallant lad, quite comely with wild brown curls, gleaming grey eyes and a smile that would surely have the most fairest of maidens in his bed. His younger brother seemed rather plainer than him; smaller, his face rougher, dark grey eyes like that of storm clouds and messily straight brown hair that made him look more like a ruffian than a second-son of House Stark. 

As fruitful as the alliance would be, he did not like the way that they stared at his Cat. Lord Brandon staring at her like a morsel of meat he could easily take. And Lord Eddard's stare practically unnerved him. It was more of curiosity but still. Edmure looked at them with awe; peskily asking questions of them both. Catelyn was cordial with both, yet acted more familiar with the second-born rather than her betrothed. Lysa practically swooned at Brandon's gallantry and smile. The moment he takes a sight at Stannis, does his smile gleam even more. 

Suddenly, the fool decided to test Stannis' mettle with the belief he could take him on. At first, Stannis had sternly refused. It was not until that Brandon insulted his pride and called him a fishwife's get. Both of them suited in grey plate armour. Brandon was taller at four-and-ten but Stannis was still catching up in height at only two-and-ten. The boy's smile quickly grew irritating and annoying while Stannis grimaced. He saw Rickard and little Eddard sigh heavily. They've likely seen this happen before. Such foolhardiness. Both of them came at each other with such ferocity, shouting their house's words. Ours is the fury indeed. Stannis quickly matched the cocksure heir's swings and parried with ease. For once, the smile on the Stark heir's face was gone and replaced with a serious face of a man. He wasn't sure just who could have won had Brynden not stopped it. The looks on their faces; it was like they wanted to murder one another. 

"I do apologize, my lord. I'd say it's the wolf's blood my family carries. Brandon always had more of a touch of it. But lately, he's become an impudent brat as of late. I do hope he grows out of it, to be a true and proper man worthy of your daughter's hand. With the way he's acted as of late, it makes me wish that the Gods had granted me my Ned first than him. He's always been a good lad, if a wee bit shy. Truly a shame." Lord Rickard offered as an apology. He didn't understand the last part of his words, until he saw just what it was the lord of winter had stared at. His Cat and his Ned deep in conversation, talking animatedly like they didn't want it to end. 

Soon after they left, there was a sudden change in Stannis. His lessons were fine, but when it came time for his training: he had become a storm. Ser Desmond actually complained of the newfound hardness in his strikes. When Brynden trained with him, he was the only one who could keep up with his newfound speed and ferocity. His eyes darkened with a liking to hatred. 

With that amount of energy pouring into him, he thought it best to take him to Seagard. Lord Mallister had held a small tourney there. The lad partook in the melee but nothing more. "Everything else is far too frivolous." he said. He all but dominated everyone in it, including young Jeffory Mallister, Raymun Darry and Damon Vypren. He then saw Mallister's sister Johanna and Darry's cousin Mariya staring at him impressively. But it wasn't as if he hadn't notice the boy grow. His shoulders becoming more broader, his legs longer, his arms sinewy. He always kept his hair neat and short; which added to his growing handsomeness. If only he dressed more of his station though, he might be able to catch the eyes of some ladies of powerful houses. Not that Houses Darry and Mallister weren't powerful. 

He soon noticed just how much more calm his ward had been once they had come to the port. The apparent hatred in his eyes dissipated and were replaced with true happiness and wonder. Jeffory Mallister quickly showed him the ramparts that overlooked the galleys. He should have suspected something like that. Lord Steffon had made mention on just how much his second-born son loved the sea. It was also then he noticed just how flustered Lysa looked when Lady Johanna Mallister decided to show Stannis their war galley; _The Silver Wind._  He should have noticed it then.

As they made camp around Oldstones, he noticed the distance between Lysa and Stannis. He and Cat had grown quite close  on their way back to Riverrun, but not the type of closeness that he had suspected. No, there was a certain mirth in their eyes as they made the fire (well, Cat trying to) and light laughter. Twas more like that of a brother and sister. And yet, Lysa looked all the more flustered. As they made their way back to RIverrun, he had lost sight of Lysa in all the fog. It was not until a little bit later that Stannis managed to find her, and her face was happily blushing. 

Things quickly took a turn for the worse when he had heard word of the deaths of Lord and Lady Baratheon. Stannis' fostering was coming close to it's end and had made a brief return to Storm's End. To see the sight of his lady mother and father perish at Shipbreaker Bay. The day he came back to Riverrun, he was more morose than the day he had first arrived at his halls. He rarely came out of his chambers. And when he did, he bore the most sullen look he had ever seen in his life. He never saw how Steffon was when he had supposedly cradled his own father's lifeless body. He could imagine the sadness and despair he's feeling. 

One day, he decides to bring his ward out of sullen state and he saw his youngest daughter by his side. He did not sob like a madman, or cry as a boy should. He simply slumped on her shoulder and did not say anything. It was not until Brynden had coaxed him out of his chambers, he had seen the face of his ward. His cheeks were practically sunken and hollowed while his eyes were bright red and nearly swollen shut. Surely, whatever anger and grief he was feeling, he could get it out in a training session with Brynden. 

But for the first time in his life, he saw more than just his ferocity. For the first time in his life, he saw true anger in his face and in his swings. His swings so powerful and swift that Brynden could barely keep up. It was then that for the first time, he heard his ward angry and yelling. "STUPID FOOL!! STUPID KING! STUPID ROYAL BLOOD! STUPID JON ARRYN! STUPID NED STARK! STUPID ROBERT! STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!!!" The last swing so hard that he nearly broke both of their blades. Exhausted and breathing heavily, the poor boy could only slump to the ground while Brynden pulled the boy close. And for the first time, he wasn't the strong and reliable lad; just a lad who lost both his mother and his father. 

With each passing year, Stannis grew into more of a man. He still preferred his hair neat and short, and some stubble growing around his jaw and hollow cheeks made him look quite a handsome lad. And he saw much of Steffon in him. When his brother Robert came to visit, Stannis visibly scowled. Things hadn't been the same between the two of them from what he heard, since the day their mother and father died. Robert Baratheon was now Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands but spent seldom time in the Stormlands; more often than not leaving his great-uncle Harbert and his maester Cressen to the tasks of ruling. He saw much of Steffon in his two eldest sons: Robert had his amiability and charm along with talent of gallant pomposity while Stannis had his sense of duty and responsibility if not stronger. The moment that Robert challenged Stannis, his ward bore an almost cocky grin. 

Robert did seem disappointed that he wouldn't be using his favoured weapon, that great monstrosity of a warhammer, but laughed it off easily. But it was quite apparent that holding a simple sword made him a bit uneasy. Stannis looked confident that it was rather unnerving. They took their stance and swung. Robert's swings were powerful and quite quick, but Stannis was quicker and began to put his brother on the defensive; spending more time parrying than striking. With how much taller, broader and muscular Robert is, he thought he would be his own ward and brother to a pulp. Instead, Stannis was tiring him out with his deadly strikes that were quick as lightning. But as he kept striking, it was then he noticed something on his arm. A small pale blue ribbon tied on it with a small silver fish on it; a favour. Lysa's mayhaps? Had it given him some newfound strength he did not have before? But before long, Stannis had knocked the sword of his brother's hand, placed his own by his shoulder, and told him to yield. Lord Robert had done so reluctantly, while growling on how he would have won if he had been able to use his warhammer. His children and brother had clamoured to Stannis' side, congratulating him and commenting him on his prowess. 

As his fostering came to an end, it was then that he truly noticed just how much Lysa and Stannis have grown and gotten closer. His daughter would barely leave his side, and Stannis no longer seemed to think of her as a hindrance or nuisance. When he received a raven that declared him Lord of Storm's End, his ward had left and his daughter practically lost her life. She had been so upset and morose the day he left. Barely speaking a word and not wanting to leave her chambers. Strangely enough, he had to fix Catelyn's betrothal to the new heir; Eddard. She did not seem as upset as he thought she'd be, but simply said that if he was "not man enough to be a lord and husband, then so be it". But there was a hint of a smile there too. Twas not until he received another raven, from his former ward and new lord of Storm's End, asking Lysa for her hand, she all but cried tears of joy. 

When he came back to Riverrun for the wedding, all he said was that he was in need of a wife and Lysa was suitable for marriage now. But he could see just how practiced that was. Stannis' notoriously stony face was in a sweat and red. 

But it was a grand and true sight to see them happy and wed. Stannis standing tall and proud with Baratheon colours. Lysa looking ecstatic with a bright smile plastering her face. Little Renly talking with Edmure. Catelyn and ... Eddard sitting next to one another watching the happy couple. There was no greater joy to have and behold.

 


	202. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of being sent to the Iron Islands, Theon is sent to the Vale, to 'persuade' Lady Arryn to support Robb. Theon is very good at 'persuading'.

Theon was glad to have stiff rock beneath him instead of shifting soil and muck. He had climbed the Eyrie easily- ironmen must have good balance or fall from the rope bridges. Now he stood in the Great Hall and looked across the famous Moon Door. The little Lord and his mother sat high above.  
  
She was an older woman, low hanging teats from milking. Lady Catelyn’s eyes and Sansa’s hair and a pinched mouth. It looked like she’d been sucking lemons.  
  
Her son was sucking her left tit. Lord Robert Arryn had formally and querulously received his cousin’s envoy and now he was sucking her left tit.   
  
"You have come here to seek an alliance." Lysa spoke for her son.  
  
"I have, my lady." Her other tit had popped out of the dress. Theon stared at it. Her nipple still rather bright and pert in spite of her age.  
  
"Lord Arryn, I bring you a message from your cousin Robb Stark, King of the North and the   
Riverlands." He unravelled the scroll. "‘To Lord Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale, greetings.’"  
  
"Who are you?" He had a whiny, quiet voice. At least he’d stopped sucking the tit. _And let me get a better view of it._  
  
"I’m Theon Greyjoy." Theon didn’t like being interrupted.  
  
"I’m Robin and I’m Lord of the Vale. What are you lord of?"  
  
"My father is Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands."  
  
"I saw them on the map. They’re very small." Theon really didn’t like this kid. A glance of the room revealed that no knight hid a smirk.  _I suppose they’re equally embarrassed to have such a Lord_ , Theon thought. _Or thought it a funny jape._  
  
"I don’t like him. He’s got a spot on his face." The High Lord started to suck the tit again, dismissing the ambassador.  
  
"It is late, my sweetling. Shall I read a story? Then it’s time for sleep" Robin got up, completely ignoring Theon, the guards and the assembled knights and ladies.  
  
"You will dine with me tonight, Theon Greyjoy, once my son has retired. Your needs will be seen to."  _He wanted her, she could tell. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her bosom. His mouth twisted with need._

He had little time for pleasantries and went straight to the point. She seemed to listen intently in how he talked about the honour and glory the men of the Vale would gain in fighting alongside Robb. The need for more strong and able men. The need for wise council from men like Bronze Yohn Royce. Yet, as he said all that, he thought about his own need. His need to suckle on her teat like her stupid son did. Suck and fondle the both of them really. 

But then he was pulled away from those thoughts as she asked just what exactly she would be getting in return. And so, he told her that she would be getting the recognition of being the one who ultimately saved the North and ended the war. And surely a new husband within an army of suitors that would come her way. 

Lysa Arryn is not young, and she is not beautiful, neither in face nor spirit. But she is lonely. She wants and she needs and it turns her in on herself, and he can’t help but feel for her. He understands and remembers what it is to be lonely. But there was undoubtedly lust in her eyes.

With a few quick words on how she would be wanted by many, and a small slip of the tongue that she is wanted now, she seemed to understand. Within a few seconds flat, she had all but dunked her own tongue in his mouth. She certainly knew how to kiss well. Well, indeed. 

Quickly enough, they had gone off to her chambers. Now, he got to see both of her tits. But it wasn't long until her small mouth and lips had wrapped themselves around his cock. _Gods! She's as good as any of the whores I've bedded. A bit better though._ Before long, he quickly and eagerly pushed her on to the bed and easily made his way into her. Already wet and all too eager for it. He began to thrust inside of her with all his might. I'll have her scream as far as the Narrow Sea. But, dissatisfaction soon came upon him as he saw her bite her lip. Or maybe, she doesn't want the little brat to wake up. Or make her vassals believe that she's a dirty lady as she is now. 

He got out of her soon enough, and heard her whine a bit. Only to simply turn her over and have her from behind. She couldn't keep biting her lips and soon enough, small moans began escaping that petulant mouth of hers. _How long had it been since she had a good fuck? Did she ever have a good fuck?_ Theon then decided to strike her bum; it was rather shapely and looked in need of it. A larger moan then escape her mouth, goading him to do it again. Thrice more, and she moaned in satisfaction and pain, and the left side of it was now a throbbing red. Urgency then took over, as he grabbed her hips and thrusted relentlessly into her. 

His seed squirting all over her cunt that it practically dripped out of it. _Gods, it has been a while since **I've** had a good fuck lately._

"So, can we count on your support, my lady?"

"If you continue to serve me like this, I can support you all you like!" she giggled. 

_Oh, Robb. Your mother will kill me well enough for this. I just hope your aunty can protect me well from her._


	203. Kiss (Devan/Shireen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something so sentimental  
> You make so detrimental  
> And I wish it didn't feel like this  
> 'Cause I don't wanna miss this kiss

A game. It was just a game, she says to herself. And yet, she can't stop thinking about it. 

She, Edric and Devan had been playing Monsters and Maidens. Devan and Edric were rather silly in how they acted like knights. Both of them using over-the-tops dramatic voices. Rather than wooden swords, they used blunted tourney blades; to feel like true proper knights. 

As Devan saved her, she laughed herself silly at his antics. She had never laughed so hard. When Devan asked for his final favour from his lady love, she happily agreed to it. "A kiss for the fairest maiden in all of the Seven Kingdoms!" She couldn't tell whether he had moved his lips too quick, or if she moved her head too fast. Rather than be kissed on the cheek or her hand, as custom would dictate, Devan gave her a small kiss on her lips. 

Soft, chaste, and sweet. For a moment, she thought that he would taste like onions. He didn't. He tasted strong, like the earth itself. But then, they were no longer playing a game. Edric looked aghast and Devan fumbled out an apology. And all but ran away.

Why was he sorry? Was he sorry he kissed me? Did he think me ugly? Or was it simply because of status and custom? I am a princess and Father's heir, and Devan is now the son of a minor lord rather than a simple knight. But he could be so much more than that. Maester Pylos had mentioned along with Edric and Gilbert Farring had potential to serve as Kingsguard. But wait, that would mean that he wouldn't be able to marry me. Wait, would he want to marry me? Why would he want to marry me?

Even if I wasn't Father's heir and a princess, I'm still an ugly little beastling. I heard what uncle Renly called me in his letter. And I thought him to be nice and my favourite uncle. But, I guess that's what happens when you wear a crown. 

Still, if he rose up to be a member of Father's kingsguard; it could be like one of my stories. Like that of Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight; who were rumoured to have loved each other in spite of all the hardship that Aegon the Unworthy had thrown at them both. But life isn't like the stories. Devan wouldn't want me. 

Then, why did he kiss me then? Was it really just part of the game? Something else? What was it? But why?

Why would he even want me? Would he want to kiss me again? Maybe?


	204. Ungallant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is cruel to remove two people in love away from one another, and more cruel to force them onto others.

She couldn't believe it when her father told her that she would finally be married. But she found herself rather disheartened that it was to Mychel Redfort. It was nothing against him, truly. Undoubtedly, one of the most promising warriors of the Vale, recently knighted and gallant to boot. But why a fourth-born son? 

When she asked her Father, all he said was that it made for a good match in spite of his status, and that Lord Horton was loathe to part with any of his other sons. But that didn't seem to matter much. Ysandra, her younger sister was quite miffed; pleading to have a match made for her. Although, matches are often made for younger daughters first before a firstborn daughter; same as any second or third-born sons. But Waymar decided to go off to the Wall, and Robar turned down any prospects if it meant earning glory to our House. Only Andar remained along with his own son; Jon Royce. 

But she lost those thoughts as she saw Mychel. Tall, with neat flaxen hair, hard lean muscle, and beautiful forest-green eyes. For a moment, she thought him dissatisfied with her. Am I not pleasing to him? But he seemed nervous at best, as he tried to smile at her. Gallant as a knight he may be, he was as shy as a maiden. He mostly talked of his older brothers and his former foster brother; Domeric Bolton. She had talked of her family too. But, for some reason, she felt as if he was not truly paying attention to her. But we would have more moments as the wedding came. 

As the wedding approached, she felt like the Maiden in her pristine dress. Mychel looked even more gallant then and there if he didn't before. His hair was slightly longer but still trim and neatly kept. Those eyes of his bearing into her soul; shining with a sense of determination. She loved it. And she loved it even more as he put his cloak on her shoulders, and they said the words, and sealed it with a kiss. The kiss. It was rather sweet, quick and chaste, but something was strange. They almost tasted cold. 

Once the feast began, she had greeted all of the lords who had come into attendance and Mychel had done the same. Gallant as can be. The festivities grew louder and bolder as they went on. And Mychel started to get more ale with each passing second. He's just having fun with the other newly-minted knights. Once the bedding is called for, she feels almost frightened as every man in sight is tearing at her clothes. She sees Mychel trying to dissuade the ladies but ultimately gives in and laughs along with them "I'll show her my great red fort!!"

The moment they are in their chambers, she feels quite uncertain. And more than anything, wants to cover herself, mostly because of the chill. But she feels positively perverted as she all but glares at Mychel; with his lean muscles and body bare to her. Quickly, he comes to the bed and kisses her. It's more passionate than before; more wild. And she loves it. The way their tongues dance around one another. The way his hands go onto her body; gently caressing it. The moment he's inside of her; it stings but it quickly goes away as time seems to pass. Their hips moving at an equal pace amidst the cacophony of their moans and groans.  As he fills her to the brim with his seed, she brings him closer to her as his head rests on her shoulders. Suddenly, he harshly whispers in her ear; 

"Mya. Mya. I love you, Mya."

Mya? Mya? Who's Mya? Just who is this woman, Mychel? Who is she? Who is she?? 


	205. From Horror to Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will be a man of honour not the horror of the realm.

_Harry the Arse is more like it._

_Horrible, horrible Harry._

_Harry you arsehole!_

All those words still haunt him as he kept training with the others. But he cannot forget that they were right. I've just been nothing but a prat. Mayhaps it was because of that, no one wanted to be around me at all. 

It wasn't until the War for the Dawn, or the Winter War as the smallfolk came, did he realize that not a single soul liked him or wanted to be near him. But then again, he had made stupid insipid little jokes about it being the Northerner's War. But he had soon heard reports of snow in Dorne for the first time in years. 

All the words, all the mockery, it didn't do anything but earn everyone's ire. Not even his family really. His cousin Morton barely wanted him around as he was already a father. Donnel had always been too serious for his liking. Wallace may have been shy and stuttering fool at times, but he certainly grew a backbone during the war, and all but told me to fuck off. Roland, the cousin he liked best, who he often thought of as his best mate, told him to get his head struck by a horse. 

Everyone praying for my death. Acting like I was better than everyone. I'm no better than Lord Littlefinger or the Mad Queen. Seven Hells, it's still surprising that Lord Nestor allowed me to marry his daughter Myranda after the scandal involving Sansa Stark. 

Sansa. Good Gods. I was more an arse to her than just about everyone really. From the moment he saw her, all he thought about was what he saw. The bastard of the ever infamous Lord Littlefinger. Pretty though with her dark hair, which turned out to be dyed. But she did prove herself witty and clever which made her all the more beautiful; even if Lady Anya had forced it on him. But then again, she had been keen to remind me that I wouldn't have been born if Ned Stark hadn't spurned his mother when he was younger. I guess I do owe the Starks much. 

But if I didn't want her before, I want her more than ever now. Even with a marriage to a noble lady, and Myranda is pretty and witty but no great beauty like Lady Sansa. Flowing red hair like living fire, bright blue eyes and an ever growing bust that would match Myranda's in size, if not bigger. He had done his duty by Randa the moment they were married; if only because I am a scion of House Arryn. 

Hardyng. I've wanted to be more than that. It was all the more reason why he practically wanted his sickly cousin to perish. But that was practically cruel to say or even think. And it made Sansa all the more weary as he tried to be by her side. I would like to live in Winterfell by her side and wake up to her every morning. But she hadn't forgotten all the things I had said and the things I nearly made her do. 

_Oh, c'mon, luv. Just suck it a little bit. It's one of the godliest things you can do!_

_You're a bastard. A pretty bastard, but still a bastard. You should be grateful to bear my child or someone like me to touch you!_

With the way she looks at me now, she's a true Northerner. Someone who rarely forgives and forgets. And she also hadn't forgotten how I treated her brother, or cousin now, Jon Snow and her good-brother Ser Gendry. 

_Why should I rut around with this lot? No offense, but they're in no way better than or as great as me!_

_You bastards will be luck to clean mine own chamberpot._

No one told him if Lord Gendry would be taking on the Baratheon name or if he would be given the name Stark, as his new lady wife had insisted. And Jon Snow would likely marry Lady Daenerys from the way they stared at each other. She, along with Sansa and most other woman had made themselves scarce around him. 

They hadn't forgotten that upon the arrival of Queen Daenerys, he had all but fawned over her, doing his best to charm and bed her. It was then and there he realized just how much she was like her sigil; a ferocious dragon.

Until the snow had completely cleared off of the roads, he was stuck here in the North. The only other person who seems to remotely enjoy my company is Justin Massey. He had to admit he liked him well enough. And he was looking to a powerful lady; Lady Asha Greyjoy. But he could tell that it was beyond getting a new land and title. From the way they looked at each other, they seemed to respect each other at least. Not passion or love, but it was something. 

But how exactly do they do it? The remnants of the Night's Watch were all loyal to Jon Snow, and what remained of the Brotherhood of Brigands adored Ser Gendry. He mocked him but he could admit that he was a better knight and warrior he could hope to be. All of them better men than he ever was. All of Winterfell respected Sansa, and many asked for her hand. From little Edric Storm, to the bold Tyrek Lannister who managed to sneak away here to that barbarous relation he had of a cousin. With the way he guarded her chambers, it would be quite surprising it that were the case. 

But that doesn't matter. No matter how much I try to be the gallant and honourable man I want to be, I fuck up somehow. I fuck everything up. But I will be a good honourable and gallant man if it kills me. Not just for Sansa, but to prove them all. All of them.


	206. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alongside the Onion Knight, the Greyjoys decided to make their move to the Baratheons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altered Greyjoy Family Tree:  
> Balon Greyjoy; born 255 AC  
> Euron "Crow's Eye" Greyjoy; born 258 AC  
> Victarion Greyjoy; born 262 AC  
> Harlon and Donel Greyjoy; born 269 AC  
> Aeron "Damphair" Greyjoy; born 273 AC  
> Robin Greyjoy; born 277 AC
> 
> Paxter Redwyne is married to Leyla Hightower instead of Mina Tyrell.

He was glad to have done what he did. If he had done what his sons had wanted him to do, he would have likely lost his own life. Taking advantage of the Rebellion by raiding the Mander was sound but rather stupid. If he didn't know better, it almost sounded as if his own sons wanted him to die. He wondered if it was because he had taken a greenlander for a wife. His beloved Lanna Piper had an ample chest and hips with honey brown hair and eyes and was a good mother to their children before her untimely demise. His second wife, Cerissa Sunderly, had been the one to grant him enough common sense to try to aid the Baratheon's in their Rebellion. 

Thus, he had taken fifty of his best longships armed with his best men and sailed his way to Storm's End. Bringing Victarion was a good idea rather than bring his eldest two; Balon incorrigible and Euron too wild and willful. His third-born son was more a follower but dutiful and loyal nonetheless. Within a matter of moments, he and his men had ridden Shipbreaker Bay of much of the ships and he came face to face with the "mighty" Lord Mace Tyrell. He certainly looked powerful enough but charged at him oafishly, like a child would at a sparring match. It was pititful in all honesty, and rather than fight him, aimed his blade toward his leg; crippling him. A fate worse than death, some would say. But as that had happened, another ship had went straight to Storm's End itself and had smuggled in several foodstuffs into the castle. 

Davos; the Onion Knight. He was a rather amiable man with a weather-beaten plain face and brown eyes and hair. He had heard of the man who had taught him how to sail as he talked of him; the infamous Blind Bastard, Ruro Uhoris. But as he and Davos agreed that a known smuggler isn't much of a smuggler. Soon enough, he had met the young stormlord; Stannis Baratheon. He looked strong enough for a boy of his age; but the siege had taken much out of him. He could see his dark hair was beginning to thin and his cheeks horribly hollow. But soon enough, they had managed to get out every morsel of food that had been on the remaining Tyrell fleet as well as his own. He had to admire his conviction and determination; that he saw every one of his men and his younger brother fed before him. 

Soon after, Lord Eddard of House Stark had come to liberate whatever had been left of the Siege and that they pledge to the new Baratheon king. Eventually, as the Rebellion had come to a close; he had pledged his loyalty to the new king. He looked like the perfect image of a young conqueror but certainly not a king. He had doubts that he would even be a good king but it was not his place to question the man who had rebelled against his king and kin and took the Iron Throne that always belonged to the Targaryens. He certainly recieved more favors from the new king himself rather than the small portions of riches he could have gotten by simply raiding the shores of the Mander. Victarion would be granted a pretty bride and receive his own seat soon enough. Aeron would come to foster at Storm's End and possibly receive a knighthood. And if he had another son, he would come to squire for the king himself at court. 

But soon enough, his loyalty had been tested as the new king commanded him and his brother to lay siege to the island fortress of Dragonstone to catch the last remaining Targaryens. As they made their way to the castle, all they found was a maid with the dead body of Queen Rhaella and a baby girl. Victarion almost cringed as Stannis parroted his brother's words to a tee to eliminate every Targaryen. He had heard on how he smiled at the dead bodies of Princess Elia and her children as they had been displayed to him by the ever-mighty Tywin Lannister. When he came back to the court, he had pleaded firmly to the king and his Hand; Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie to have the babe spared. Even his brother and his own son had surprisingly spoke enough for her; claiming that her death would taint his reputation. The two seemed to get along well enough. But he ultimately thought to have the girl humiliated and ashamed by having her betrothed and eventually married to the illegitimate son of his dear friend Eddard Stark; Jon Snow. Better that that happen than have a babe killed all for sport. 

The land that Victarion had been given was quite surprising. Rather than a small speck of land on the coast of Shipbreaker Bay, for all of his generosity, King Robert had granted his son the isle of Dragonstone as his seat; thus forming House Greyjoy of Dragonstone. Soon enough, Victarion would come to wed Mina Tyrell as a reward and punishment to House Tyrell. She seemed a sweet and pleasant girl if a bit shy. And certainly a beauty with her curling shining brown hair and eyes. He had all but instructed his son not to harm her but he understood, bowing his head dutifully and promising to honour her. A large retinue of servants and knights consisting of many from the Reach and the Westerlands. Such as a distant cousin Denys Redwyne and young Devan Lannister, a rather jovial lad. He had quickly come to befriend the gallant heir of Southshield; Talbert Serry. Twas a shame that he did not come with him.

Shortly after that, Stannis' own wedding had arrived. He too had been granted a noble lady of the Reach, Lady Delena Florent. A lovely and amiable-enough woman with soft features, shorter than her husband by a head. Her eyes prettily pale and armed with good hips and an ample chest which many had seemed to admire so blatantly. Even the king. The affair was as grand to be expected as the king's own brother was wed. But it soon soured as the king had been caught bedding Lady Delena's homely cousin, Selyse. He wasn't sure who it was more humiliating for; Stannis and his new bride, King Robert, or Lady Selyse. 

Victarion had more than often sent a raven on how things had been at his castle. How he had come to enjoy and adore his little wife. How he got along with most of his retinue; Devan Lannister in particular. How his son Quenton was growing into a strong lad. And how he more often than not had been welcomed by Stannis at Storm's End; alongside the Onion Knight, Ser Davos. Victarion had always been quite dower and serious. It was nice to hear his spirits lifted. Mayhaps being away from his brothers had done him well.

He shouldn't have been surprised when Balon tried to raise a rebellion against the king. Always an incorrigible and ungrateful git of a boy. Not even marriage and  fatherhood had turned him into much of a man. Still armed with grand notions that the Ironborn should be like the days of old, with Euron by his side and his ear. Harlon and Donel more than eager to join him at the helm with little supporters. He quickly sent a raven to King's Landing informing King Robert of his son's idiocy. Whatever rebellion they had planned out had quickly been snuffed out. Saddening as it was, he knew that his eldest son and heir would die a fool's death. All the more foolish when he loudly proclaimed that he never swore any vows to the King and charged at him himself with blade in hand. The Kingslayer renewed his name that day. Harlon and Donel quickly laid their lives and pledged to serve in the Night's Watch to repent. Euron had escaped whatever "mercy" the king had planned out for him. The king had more than easily pardoned the rest of his family. Although, he did make some suggestions to ensure that something like that would not happen again. And so, with a heavy heart, he had convinced Gwynesse to send Theon to Winterfell to foster, and Asha to Riverrun. To be a better man than Balon. His eldest grandson, seemed to enjoy the ideas that his father parroted on and on again about being like the Greyjoys of old. 

There was no word from Victarion. Other than inquiring as to how he had been since that had happened. He told his son that his brothers had it coming. But truth be told, his heart broke. For whatever his sons had done, they were still his sons. Even if they had cheese for wits, he still loved them. He knew that Victarion and Aeron were safe from them. And it was glad to have his youngest son back to him. His choice to become a Drowned Priest did unnerve him a bit; far too devout for his liking. But he had mentioned that he had been praying for his brothers in hopes they find themselves in the Halls of the Drowned God. Foolish Aeron, the Drowned God would not accept them.

But that may not be the only war. He could feel it in his bones. The winds had brought dark tidings as they crashed onto the shores of Pyke. Victarion. Aeron. Grandchildren. Please, be safe. I may not be long for this world. I do hope that you find your happiness in life. Be brave. Brave yourself to the eye of the storm. Do not walk the paths of fools. I have erred mine own children, I hope I have not erred yours as well.


	207. Unwanted/Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even for a moment, no matter how false, she felt wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've referenced this happening a couple of times, but go back to the sixth chapter as this chapter relates to that more.

She should feel grateful to have been wedded to his brother; Ser Stannis. Her uncle, Alester, had said that it was the greatest boon House Florent had been offered. He looked to be a strong enough man, if a bit young for her. There hadn't been any time to get to know one another and soon enough, she had been married. 

He kept staring at her. The king. He was certainly more handsome than her husband. Taller, broad-shouldered. His jawline strong with full cheeks that were obscured by fierce beard. She felt herself blush like a young maiden. 

The king was definitely a livelier sort than her husband, who just seemed to scowl at everyone and every thing in sight. He didn't want to talk to anyone with the exception of the infamous Onion Knight. Be it for gratitude or something else. She liked the way he stared at her; even if it did make her a bit uneasy at first. 

For once, she felt wanted by someone. She was by no means a great beauty. But no Florent was ever considered to be a beauty. Delena seemed to have that honour though with curves and chest that made her jealous of her impudent cousin. She had heard that she would have married Ser Stannis herself but the King and Lord Jon Arryn had made the decree that they marry. 

In that moment, she did not care for him. She liked how the king kept staring at her until he made his way and introduced himself formally. Even his voice is beautiful! Strong and masculine like a war commander. Stannis' voice was a stern hard thing with iron in it. 

They talked a great deal about family, surprisingly enough. With each passing word and giggle, more and more the wine had been poured into her glass. 

She doesn't know how it happens. One moment they approached the topic of Stannis. And the next moment, he took her hand and went off to the nearest bedchamber. A part of her said that she should stop. That she's married to his brother now and that it was the ultimate act of betrayal. But he is the king, and handsome; And for once, she feels beautiful and wanted. And so, she ignores the voice in her head telling her to stop and gave in. 

It had stung at first. But if felt good. _Very good._ She found the urge to sink her nails into his large muscled back, and that further spurred him. Pumping into her faster and harder. The most joyous moment was when he finally squirt into her and filled her with his seed. And that joy quickly turned to ashes to what he whispered in her ear. 

"This makes me glad I gave my brother to that ugly wench. You're an amazing fuck, Lady Delena!"

Delena? Delena?! He wanted Delena?? 

Now, she was just the homely disgraced wench bearing the king's bastard. 

Now, the luck that Delena would have been blessed with, was now fully given to her. King Robert just barely looked ashamed. Only ashamed that he didn't bed the "pretty one". She even heard him muttering under his breath that now he would not get the chance. 

She may not have been a great beauty or a desired and wanted woman. But she would have had a husband. Brought glory and honour to her house. Instead, she has and is it's greatest shame. And that shame filling inside of me.


	208. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One way or another, she will have her prince

I saved Tommen, she says to herself. I did this to save him. 

When the self-proclaimed Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name had come to Westeros, she laughed. There was no way that the boy could be the babe that her father had put to the sword. And the tale of his survival sounded absurd. When she first looked at him, she thought him to be some Lyseni whoremonger playing at being king. 

Until she saw him truly. While not an exact copy, he looked eerily similar to the Silver Prince that she dreamed of. A lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build, neat shoulder-length silver-blond hair that neatly framed his cherub-like face and long eyelashes that almost hid his eyes. His eyes. They were not the rich intoxicating indigo that his father bore. A rich and deep purple. 

As he took King's Landing with relative ease, he had managed to get a hold of Tommen. Her little lion cub did not look or seem scared at all. She had talked a great deal with the Daring Dragon, as the smallfolk began calling him, begging him to spare her son. He had already dethroned her boy, he doesn't have to kill him. And he was fairly distracted. It had been a good thing that she wore something that truly accentuated her beauty.

He had proclaimed that Tommen would live and serve as his squire to the court and deemed it mercy, and that she would die in the morn. But not until she got what she really wanted out of him. He was not Rhaegar's copy but he had done nicely. Very, very nicely. 

It had been clear that he had never really been with a woman before. But that made him all the more eager to learn. Even if she were going to die, she had wanted to know such bliss. As she began to mount and ride on his cock, she felt a great deal of esctasy. Much more than when I had Taena in my bed. When she closed her eyes, for a moment, it was if Rhaegar had come again and had been drinking all of her beauty. 

Within time, he had come to know her body as she knew it. As Jaime had known it. But those thoughts quickly went away as the Daring Dragon had mercilessly pounded into her while pawing at her breasts. The way he sucked on her breasts and nipples made him seem like a beast in heat. Desperately claiming a mate and demonstrating that it belonged to him. It felt all the more like it when he turned her over on to her belly and pointed her arse toward his cock, and all but rammed himself into it. 

He almost reminded her of Robert with the way he mercilessly pounded into her like that. But the first time in a long time, she found herself enjoying it. No longer was she biting back moans or pretending to be satisfied. She felt almost whole. For once in her life, she had her dream. In the most perverse way, she had her prince. 

She would die in the morn, but at least she got to know some joy in her life. At least some. 


	209. The Wait is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had begun to think my ripening body would wither untasted on the vine.

Had it truly been three years?

It had been so long. Her fingers had barely done a thing any more. She had thought that she would wither up like a raisin in the sun. 

At first, she had thought it foolish to stay with her child husband. At first, she simply though of his safety as much as her own. There was little attraction, and he was seven years her junior. With a little bit of convincing, Queen Daenerys had allowed their lives spared. Lord Tyrion allowed Tommen and his sister to be legitimized as Lannisters; considering the vast abundance of lions had lessened, as he said. And that they would be key to repairing House Lannister's good name. 

She had often saw to him ruling with his trusted relatives; his great-aunt Genna and a cousin named Devan Lannister who actually looked and acted like a lion. She had been by his side at times as his "lady wife". But she knew she was barely that. Genna Lannister may be a "fat cow" as Grandmother called her but was not stupid. She was certainly cautious toward her and with reason instead of stupidity like Cersei. 

At times, she had thought to bed someone to sate her curiousity. But many watched her like a hawk. And many of those many had watched her chest. She had been tempted to take one of them into her chambers. To feel a man's rough hands on her thighs. At one point, she had though of taking Devan herself. She had to admit that he was quite handsome, with or without his large beard. But he was quite happily married to his Blackwood bride. 

It almost bored her. She liked Tommen's company well enough; being the cheerful child he is. It had been hard to see him as her husband. He was more like a little brother with the way he talked about his day and his pet kittens. A carefree and jovial lad first and foremost. 

But something had changed. She didn't know what or when it was. But he started to act more like a man. He was still jovial but more and more serious as the days went by. Each lesson he had taken to heart. One day, she found herself curious and decided to watch him train. Something in her stirred. It wasn't like all the times she had seen Garlan or Loras train. They were tenacious fighters giving everything they got, but Loras more vainglorious. Tommen fell more often than not but rose up more determined than before. Something about his emerald eyes were gleaming like a flame. 

 _No. I should not be thinking such things. He is little more than a child and I am woman grown_ , she had thought to herself. But time had passed, and he had neared closer to his four-and-tenth nameday. Lady Genna decreed that they would not be doing their "godly duty" until Tommen was of proper age. The way she found herself staring at him, she couldn't help but feel arouse and positively perverted. Much of his youthful chubbiness had faded away from his body and most of his face. His blonde curls neatly framing his face, blowing beautifully as a passing breeze went by it. Slowly, becoming hard and lean. The way he held and swung a sword  and aimed an arrow would be the stuff of legends one day. He may surpass Ser Jaime and Loras. She almost felt giddy about it. 

When he came by, for whatever reason compelled her, she had decided to kiss him. It was nothing like the chaste kiss they once gave each other once before, nor the kiss on the cheek on their wedding day. He had been taken by surprise and had been left blushing. She felt herself blushing too. They then both left rather awkwardly. It made her think about their faithful day even more.

Once his four-and-tenth nameday came, she felt anxious. She had only known the feel of her fingers in and on her nether regions. As well as her imagination as to how it was. When he kissed her, she had been greatly surprised. It was a great surprise though. She slipped him her tongue in his mouth and he responded with the same notion. The way they swirled around each other was almost like a dance. As they stopped, both of them were breathless and could not stop blushing. Their kiss then resumed; more passionate than before. 

As their kissing furthered and deepened, she was surprised by the fact both of them were stripping one another of their clothes. She felt more stirred as she saw his lean frame and body up close. His lips removed from her own, and then went to her neck. Slowly, he began kissing her everywhere. From her neck, to her breasts, then her nipples and then her .... nether regions. Had someone told him about her fantasy? On what to do? Did he do it to someone else already? But all those thoughts faded away as he kept going at it. His tongue was almost like having a cat clean her. 

Soon, he entered her. She had not had anyone before, but he felt quite large. She never thought that she would scream so loudly and so much. Their hips moving in conjunction with one another. The way she all but twisted and scratched his shoulders as he kneaded her breasts and down to her hips as he quickened and deepened his pace. The feel of his seed splurt inside of her was almost wondrous. Any child they would have would bear all their beauty. 

As she felt herself tire, she suddenly asked, "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"I've heard some guards talk about it a couple of times. But the rest, most of it I just thought it. Like instinct or something. But the rest ... would you believe I read it in a book?"

"A book?"

"I'll have to show you some time. Mayhaps tomorrow. I've wanted to do this for quite some time."

"Bedding me?"

"Half of it. The other half ... just sharing your bed."

Sweet. He is still the sweet boy she had known in spite of how much he grown. And she liked that about him most.


	210. The Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that the former bastard prince turned Lord of Casterly Rock is Lord Tywin born again. Tywin the Second, but that's furthest from the truth.

It had been a blessing that he had survived. He thought that he would have died in that cesspool of filth that was King's Landing. He was glad that he still had men loyal enough to have gotten him out of there. But he needed to do one more thing. As horrible as it was to replace his grandnephew with a mere commoner in his place, Cersei was as fit as a mother as she was a queen. Had he known that Lancel had been there, he would have done whatever he could to get his son out of there. 

But he was back at the Rock, living soundly and safely with what remained of his family. His sister Genna and her brood of children, his gallant nephew and cousin Tyrek and Devan, and his lovely wife Dorna. How he had missed her so. It was not the Casterly Rock he had known and grown up with, but twas home nonetheless. 

Tommen had been a bit sullen at first but he was back to being rather cheery within a moon's turn. He was quite saddened that his lady wife Margaery was not with him but ultimately glad that she was safe in Highgarden. He highly doubted that he was in love with her. A friendship at most. But he could not remain marry to her. Cersei had been right about one thing; he could not trust the Tyrells. But even as their marriage had been annulled and now married to the new Lord Baratheon of Storm's End, he asked if he could still write to her. 

He and Genna saw to his education themselves. Teaching him what a lord should be and do. Tywin would have been a good teacher, but he knew his brother well. While Tommen was still king, he would be doing everything he could to be in power. After Joanna, it was the most attractive thing to him. And Cersei shared that sentiment. Tommen seemed to have taken his lessons to heart. Mayhaps too well. 

Within time, he saw something change in his grandnephew. The softness in his face near gone. The shine and luster in his lively emerald-green eyes had nearly faded. His shoulders and chest broadening but his body still lithe. His curls longer and neatly framing his face. His swordsmanship drastically improving, each time becoming more fierce and determined. It was almost as if he was looking at a young Jaime. But when he looked at his eyes, he saw his brother. He saw Tywin. 

But there were some differences. Tywin only had Joanna for counsel and him. Within time, his nephew had all but pushed him away. Instructing him to spend time with Martyn, Willem and Janei. Tommen had all but formed his own pride with some close family members, and the few friends he had made. Devan and Tyrek acted like his protectors at times. Tion and Ty, Genna's youngest and her grandson, japed along with him. Jon Brax, Rollam Westerling, and Sam Serrett stood by him as close friends and at times, sentinels. 

Tommen took his lordly duties seriously. Far too serious for his liking. If Joffrey had been Aerys the Third under Cersei's thumb, then he had created Tywin the Second. He was not sure if that was a good or bad thing. Slowly but surely, he was becoming an effective lord. Looking and acting like an effective leader. Carrying himself with a calm and quiet confidence. Standing tall and proud that did Tywin justice and make him proud. The way he had his sword by his side and gripped on it made him look all the more fierce. If Tommen was Tywin, that made his cousins each of his brothers and himself. Tyrek and Devan had Gerion and Tygett etched into them with the way they fought and japed with Tommen and each other. Tion and Ty were clearly him in a way. 

As he came of age, he realized his grandnephew needed a bride. A new bride, to be precise. He didn't know just what went on in his mind now. Before, he could easily read Tommen like a book. And now, he could not tell. It unnerved him. With much prodding, Lord Tytos had agreed for his only daughter, Bethany Blackwood, to be betrothed and eventually married. But he would want to oversee them both; see just how they got along. He had only hoped that Tommen would make a good impression. 

When they came, Tommen was courteous and polite with them. Within a matter of moments, he managed to get Edmund Blackwood to like him or be amicable with him. He could not tell what he thought of her. He could easily tell that she would be a great beauty. Armed with dark eyes and hair and slender of frame. Lady Bethany's a gentle soul who would not want to hurt anyone. But underneath the shyness in her eyes and her fidgeting fingers, he saw a fierceness and willfulness within. 

He and Tytos kept a close eye on them. Edmund was by their side, but was also talking animatedly with them. All of them laughing. I had long thought that he lost his ability to laugh altogether. Most of the japes that the others made didn't seem to make him laugh much. On occasion, he had seen a faint smirk or grin on his face, showing some amusement. As he began to talk with Lord Tytos, to try to dissuade him from breaking the betrothal before breaking it, they came to notice that they were gone. Edmund Blackwood looked dumbfounded to say the least. 

One of the guards had quickly informed them that Lady Bethany and Tommen had went into his bedchambers. Did Tommen decide to do the unthinkable? Quickly, he and Lord Tytos had made their way to his chambers. He had heard something. He could not tell what it was exactly. They immediately went in and were quite shocked. 

Tommen and Bethany had been petting his cats. He had been more surprised that he still had his cats to begin with. If he recalled correctly, he had mentioned that he no longer had time for "such frivolities". Yet, here he was, giggling to his hearts content and baring the most genuine and boyish smile he had seen in a long time. 

"Oh-ho-ho-ho,  they're adorable. Just lovely. What are their names?"

"This tubby fellow happens to be Ser Pounce. The one you're holding is his mate, Lady Whiskers."

"She's very lovely."

"As lovely as the woman who holds her."

No, Tommen was not his brother come again. Not Jaime come again. Not Cersei or even Tywin. And he was glad for it.


	211. The Prince Who Had Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of Rhaenys hiding under Rhaegar's bed, it was Viserys.
> 
> Rhaegar had promised Viserys he'd always protect him - from the father, from the monsters in the dark - so when the monsters aren't just in the dark or in the throne room anymore, he hides in Rhaegar's room to wait for him. Viserys loves his brother and knows he won't let him get hurt.

Rhaegar would come back home. He'll stop the Usurper, he knows it in his heart.

He didn't like that he had to stay with Father. Father was good sometimes, but the rest of time, he had been scary. Like a monster that the stories Rhaegar read sometimes. 

Rhaegar always protected him, whenever he could. He remembered when he sat on the Iron Throne to play, Father had gotten mad. He didn't understand. Father was mad instead of kind; screaming that he was a traitorous dragon. Rhaegar came by and said that he had wanted to show me how it would be like. Father than said that he half expected that. And that he shouldn't "poison the blood of the dragon, you traitor!!"

Father than smacked Rhaegar across the face with his long nails. Dragon claws, Father once called them. Rhaegar's cheek bled and started to swell. 

"Brother, I-I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Viserys. I'm simply glad that you're safe and alright."

I wish you were here now, brother. Father's yelling more and more like before. I wish Rhaenys and Aegon were here too. He and Rhaenys often played with each other, and he could use the company. 

Father always said that Rhaenys was not a true dragon. Said that she's weaker than him and me. Why is she weaker than us? He didn't understand.

But it was because of that, Father said that she has to stay here. But what about Aegon? Father never said much about him. But he did see Elia say something to Varys about Aegon. And Aegon seems a bit different now. His hair doesn't look like ours, more of a straw yellow colour. Elia said it's because he's sick. That's strange. Will my hair change if I get sick?

Suddenly, a noise comes closer. A loud thud. Coming closer. And closer. 

Usurper. If I had a knife on me, I'd take you down myself! 

Suddenly, a large hand grabs his leg. Within seconds, he feels that he's flying only to realize that someone is dangling him.

"Get off of me, you dogs! You'll feel the wrath of the dragon!"

But the men just laugh. He looks one of them in the eye. A rather portly man of average height, with a pale piggy face with small pig-like eyes. His laugh higher and thinner than the rest. His sigil of a manticore was rather intimidating. But a pig seemed more suited for him.

"The wrath of the dragon, eh? I guess that your daddy should have said that before the Kingslayer sliced him up good!" he said and horribly cackled. 

The Kingslayer? Who was that? Did something happen to Father? 

"Shut up!! I'll slice you up myself!!"

"HA HA HA! You think you're the smartest little shit in the world?? That everyone has to bow an' scrape your shit an' lick your boots?? And I'll you got to do is say that your daddy will save ya. Well, your daddy ain't here, dragonspawn. Your daddy's dead. And you ain't nothin' withou' him. This should help you remember!"

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He quickly saw a stream of red. What was that ...? What ... did they do ...?

Quickly, he felt more of more them. He found himself screaming and crying his eyes out. It hurt. It hurt worse than all the times he ever tripped on the stairs. 

I wish Mama was here. I wish Father didn't send Mama away. She always helps me whenever I got hurt. Mama! Where are you, Mama?

Elia? Elia, please help! I promise I won't get Rhaenys hurt like last time. Just please help me. 

Rhaegar. When are you coming back brother? You said you'd help me. You said you'd always protect me. Like when you protected me from the monsters underneath my bed. Or went Father was like the monsters in the stories. You promised, Rhaegar. You promised.

Laughing. He hears laughing. He can't scream anymore. It's not hurting like before. He barely feels anything anymore. 

Mama, please, help me.

Somebody .... anybody ... help ....

But there's no one. No one but him ... and the darkness. But there's no monsters in the darkness. .... That's good, at least. ... That's ... good.


	212. Bronze Wolves (Jon/Myranda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's in need of a husband and he was in need of a place in his life. They go together nicely.

Half the time, her father says it's the most insulting thing ever. The other half, in front of the other lords, he says it's the greatest thing ever. Her brother Albar just barely comments on it really. 

The only thing she likes about it is that she'll have a proper husband. One that will not be dying at the sight of her. And inside of her. Good Gods, that might have been the worst part in having wed Old Lord Coldwater. 

Twas Lord Arryn who had actually suggested the match. She had to admit that the idea had merit. The Starks and the Royces have always been close. Although, her father was likely thinking that she should have been married off to the Stark heir; Robb. He is a comely and endearing lad. But there were rumours going around that he's to marry my cousin Ysilla, or the fairest maiden of the Reach, Margaery Tyrell. 

She couldn't deny that her intended wasn't comely. There was no doubt that he was. Tall and lean, with dark brown curly hair, long-faced with a strong narrow jawline. His eyes were enchanting. Such a gloriously dark grey that they nearly looked black. Introspective and yet, something about them made him look as predatory as a wolf. With the little bit of stubble growing around his jaw and cheeks, it made him look all the more wolfish. 

He was undoubtedly kind and polite. And as much as he tried to, she liked the fact that she was tempting to him. The way he kept trying to stare at her face instead of her chest. She liked just how much of a man he sounded as well. He may be three years her junior but there was no doubt that he came from good stock, in spite of his status as a bastard. 

At the insistence of her father, Jon had been sent to the Vale to know their land and people. It was rather stupid, as they would be gaining their own tract of land in the North soon enough. He kept his guard up from most people he felt wary of. Lady Lysa was definitely one of them. He got along well with her brother, Mychel Redfort, Wallace Waynwood, Triston Templeton and Domeric Bolton; who had been sent to foster with Lord Redfort. And slowly but surely, he had brought out Little Lord Robert out of his shell. He was nowhere near as bratty as he was before. But now, he's a become a bit of a nuisance now that he'd been effectively weened off of his mother's milk. More often than not, following Jon around like a lost puppy. The last time she decided to be bold and kiss Jon, the little lord had interrupted and asked just to what they were doing. She desperately wanted to strangle him.

It had been pleasant that they'd been able to get along so well. He rode like a true warrior and conquering hero on a horse. Made him look all the more handsome. And an absolute devil with a sword in hand. Her cousin Waymar had not been pleased by that. She almost felt wet at the sight of her impetuous cousin getting the snot beaten out of him at the hands of her betrothed. But these days, just the mere thought of her betrothed was more than enough to create numerous dreams of him. And soon enough, she would place her fingers over her cunt, trying to imagine his touch. 

But the time would come soon. A double wedding, to be precise. To be taking place at Winterfell. She feels excitement. Not simply in being a wife. But knowing that this man would be hers. At times, she does wonder how oblivious Jon could be as to how attractive he truly is. She knows for a fact that there have been handsome bastards; like Daemon Blackfyre in spite of the tragedies that he created in attempting to take the Iron Throne. While Mya claimed to be in love with Mychel, she had seen her friend glance at her betrothed. And in spite of watching her son like a hawk when Jon indulged him, she had seen Lady Lysa eye him on occasion. A strange mix of contempt and some form of lust. Perturbing really. Even Lord Redfort and Lord Belmore's daughters had eyed him on occasion. But she always removed those notions by coming up to him and kissing him with more than enough passion to remind those hens that he's mine. Until Lord Robert spits out a "YUCK!"

The wedding could not have come sooner. Her cousin Ysilla looked splendid in her wedding dress. It was certainly more modest and conservative then her own. Not to say that her own dress wasn't but they did have to make adjustments due to the size of her bust. It covered and displayed her curves in such a sensual manner, most of the lords stared and acted like her teats were on display. Soon enough they said the words, they kissed and they were husband and wife. Jon and Myranda Frost. A good and apt name; a slight subtle reminder as to where her husband had come from. 

The feast was lovely. She had chatted with The GreatJon and his son SmallJon; a bunch of lively and rowdy giants of men. Lady Maege and her daughters Dacey and Alysane were a delight. The Liddles made her laugh so much with their jests that she thought her teats would spill out of her chest. Mayhaps they were hoping for that. Jon and Robb had chatted up the Northern and Vale lords as well. Lord Sunderland asked if they were willing to take his youngest sons as wards. Lord Royce wishing the best for both of them while subtly warning Robb to take care of his eldest daughter. 

Soon enough, the bedding had come. Everyone had been excited by that. She knew that she was excited about that too. As Jon finally came through the door, the heat in her loins came rushing out. Soon enough, she all but grabbed his neck to kiss him and dragged him to the bed. Her fingers gently trickling on his lean chest and flat stomach. She wants him inside of her but she can feel that he's a bit apprehensive about it. He hasn't bedded a woman, any woman really. But if any woman actually saw him, they'd want him. No, he's mine now. Rather than have him simply enter her, she decided to push him back on the bed. 

"What are you doing?"

"I've seen you ride a horse before. We have ridden together. But you haven't seen me ride properly. But first, I need to feel your flanks, husband."

Quickly, she had gently rubbed his thighs. Even there, he felt strong. Hearing him moan softly was comforting to her; soothing even. Then, she had placed her hands on his chest and gently placed herself on him. He quickly grabbed her hips and she could feel the tips of his fingers by the small of her back. Mayhaps he does know what he's doing. Their hips both moving together soon enough. His hands then went down to the curve of her ass and gripped it; spurring her on even more. Their pace fastening, her teats swaying by his face, his teeth and tongue on her tits and nipples; it excited her more. They had finished soon enough. His seed trickling out of her cunt shortly after he burst inside of her. 

"That was amazing. I'm sorry that I didn't last any longer."

"It's alright, husband. We have the rest of the night and the rest of our lives to make up for it!"


	213. There They Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What bothered her was the staring. All the damn time, she would see one of them staring at her whenever she swung her sword. It's like they never saw a woman swing a sword before. Stupid boys. Why do they keep staring?

It was far too strange. If she had her own choice, she would be back home at Bear Island with her sisters; Aly, Lyra and Jory. But they were all here, stuck at Winterfell. All of them were training hard with each passing day. 

Lady Sansa later decreed that House Mormont would be charged with restoring Sea Dragon Point, and in time, it would become the new seat of House Mormont. That didn't sit well with her. Bear Island was her home and no piece of paper could take that away. Not even the new fancy titles of Warden of the Stony Shore and Warden of the Frozen Shore. Not even the new riches and trade they would be able to gain with it. But that wasn't the only thing that unsettled her. 

Every time she went to train with Jory or Lyra, she'd always notice them. The little lord Stark Rickon, the Onion Lord's son Devan Seaworth and the former prince Tommen Baratheon. Some loyal prick or one of his kin managed to get him out of King's Landing safe and sound. And he was protected by Lady Sansa's orders. She could care less about that honestly. 

What bothered her was the staring. All the damn time, she would see one of them staring at her whenever she swung her sword. It's like they never saw a woman swing a sword before. Stupid boys. Why do they keep staring?

Once, as she swung her blade right at Lyra, she felt the hairs of the back of her neck stand on end. As she turned around, she saw that it was Rickon's great direwolf staring at her. Suddenly, he pounced on her, licking her face. 

"Oi! Wait! What are you doing, you great stupid beast! Stop! Cut it out!" she said to shoo him away. She needed to get away from his wide pink and ticklish tongue. 

"Ohh-hoho, I think the little lord's wolf likes you, Lya! Mayhaps, the little lord will like that. ... And maybe you too!" Lyra said mockingly. 

"Shut up! It distracted me! Let's keep fighting!" 

But she still felt his large green eyes staring at her. 

"Go on, get going. Move!"

But all he did was cock his head as if he didn't understand. She knows that he understands Rickon. 

"I had heard rumours that Lord Rickon could see through the eyes of his wolf. Mayhaps he does like you, Lya!"

"Shut up, stupid! And besides, I'm not like you. I've seen the way you blush, oh so prettily, whenever Lord Snow comes around the yard!"

"Sh-Shut up, stupid! Y-y-you don't know wh-what you're talking about!" Lyra said, her voice cracking and her face turning red. 

But that wasn't the only time she felt strange. As she went to train with Jory, she saw both Devan and Tommen staring at them both. Both of them smiling, grinning like loons. 

"If you plan on coming to train, then come on down! i'd like to test my mettle against you lot!"

That had been a great day. Both of them at her mercy. The way Tommen prettily said "I yield". 

"No thank you, my lady. We've already trained with Lord Royce."

"And we like the view from up here!"

Idiots. 

"How is it you don't notice, Lya?"

"Notice what?"

"That all those boys seem to fancy you!"

What in the name of the Seven Hells is she talking about? Of all of her sisters, Jory was always the more dreamy one. More often than not, she would mumble about being able to see the tourneys held in the South to find a husband. 

"Have you really not noticed it. Especially Lord Rickon. You two are rather close."

Of course I'm close with Rickon. He's a good friend and Arya's brother. He's young but a good and promising swordsman for his age. And he was surprisingly funny. 

"He's my friend, stupid."

"How do you like the sound of Lady Lyanna Seaworth? Or Lady Lyanna Stark ... again? Or maybe come up with a name for your new house with Tommen! Do you think he would take up our name? Lord Tommen Mormont. Has a nice ring to it."

"Do you ever shut up, Jory?!"

Gods, she's frustrating. It's not like they like me that way .... do they? No, nonononononononono ...

Suddenly, she woke up. She felt the snow crunch beneath her. 

"Oh, gods. I'm sorry I hit you that hard!"

"Are you alright?"

"Lyanna, are you OK?"

She then opened her eyes. She saw Jory, Devan and Tommen standing over her. Faces inching close to her. Very close. 

"I-I-I'm fine! I-I-I'll just .... head over to the maester's chambers ... just in case." 

And she left as fast as she could. You're so stupid, Jory. So stupid.


	214. Of Iron and Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looks at the boy bearing Robert's face, he sees the son and heir that he never got to have.

Half the time, it seems that the Gods have cursed him. But he never really believed in them. Or cared for them. And yet, in some strange way, he feels blessed by them. 

When he had met the boy, he was _somewhat_ surprised. He had an inkling feeling that Robert's ghost would come to haunt him. But it had been quite appealing to have a form of Robert at the Wall by his side. Although a boy, barely even six-and-ten namedays, and he had seen much. His eyes were bore a heaviness and weariness that would be seen in the eyes of an older man. 

Shireen had easily taken to him, as did the Lord Commander Jon Snow. He had brought a few men with him that were willing to take the Black, but it had been more than enough. Even the few supplies that they had brought, even if they had taken them from fallen brigands and Frey knights. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he was Robert's child. Same broad build, same messy black hair, same face and jaw. But he wasn't quick to welcome strangers with an open smile and a hearty laugh as Robert or even Renly would. Nor was he quick to ask for a tankard of ale and a "willing wench" as he would. He kept himself guarded and aloof. Delena wanted nothing to do with the boy, distancing herself from him. Some of his men liked him well enough. Many of those who wanted to test his mettle against him were quickly met and had their backs meet the floor. Godry Farring the Giant Slayer had been the first of many to have done so. 

Only a select few had seemed to get the boy to lower his guard. Other than his daughter and Jon Snow, a few members of the Night's Watch had taken up with him. The way he was familiar with them, it reminded him of both of his brothers. Although, he genuinely complimented them rather than use empty flattering words as Renly did. He also saw that he inherited Robert's deep belly laugh. Hearing it again had made his heart jolt and his shoulder twitch. 

There were so many ways that he reminded him of his brothers. His looks and strength was all Robert. The way he smiled reminded him more of Renly. While he never got the chance to see it for himself, he could see that like Robert, he was born leader among men. He fought similarly enough like him. Especially with that greatsword that he had taken off of some brigand; six foot long silver bright blade with runes decorated with ruby eyes on its pommel, and with a chunk of dragonglass carved in the shape of a grinning skull. It felt strange to give it to him, but that massive and ugly warhammer was more suited for him than it was me. At least, Robert can know that a part of his legacy lives on through the boy. 

His thoughts drifted to his daughter. Shireen. She made it her task to teach him. And he turned out to be a good student. He was quite good at sums, but his reading and writing was decent at least. But he improved soon enough. He had never seen his girl take to someone so easily and love anyone else wholeheartedly. He even returned the sentiment. If not for the greyscale that marred her, he knows that she would grow to be a beauty like his ancestor, Argella Durrandon. But this boy, all of Robert's strength with some of Renly's charm, yet none of their vices. The fury held within his eyes, it reminds me of myself. The focus and determination he puts into a task; like fixing the dented armour of each member of the Night's Watch. Even after he had been told that he could not join; as per my order. That stubbornness, that resilience; that was wholly Baratheon. 

Soon enough, he found himself thinking of his men. Or what remained of them. Ser Justin had come back with enough sellswords to add on to what remained of his army. And somehow, he and the boy had managed to convince what remained of the sellswords to join the Night's Watch. By chance, he had brought back Edric Storm and his small retinue. There was no doubt that Edric had earned their loyalty and love, he is Robert's son in that regard. Yet soon enough, with a few quick words, all of them had been quick to follow him, including Edric. Mayhaps he did inherit Robert's talent of inspiring friendship and loyalty in his enemies.

None of that mattered now. What mattered now was that he and his daughter were safe. Davos and the boy had made sure of that under his orders. Although, there had been one final order to give. 

_"I'd ask you to kneel ... Gendry."_

_"My lord?"_

_"My last act as a king or a lord. In the name of King Stannis Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals, the  Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I name you Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill ... lord and heir to Storm's End, Warden of the Narrow Sea ... and protector to the Lady Shireen of House Baratheon. Alongside Lord  Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood. And ... find someone ... worthy of her ..."_

_"But ... what about Edric? He'd surely do better tha - "_

_"He's to be given Brightwater Keep. He's done as good a service to me and the realm as you have. But you have done all that has been asked of you .... and .... beyond that."_

_"Stannis ..."_

_"Go. Go on then. Do what I've asked of you. Leave me here.. Go on."_

And so, they had left. Strange. In a different world, in a better world, that boy ... Gendry ... would have been my son. An heir and a prince. He'd be a good brother to Shireen, a strong son that Delena would surely be proud of, a protector to the youngest of Cersei's brood at least, and the envy of Robert. But Robert had to have that. At the very least, I could do some good for the boy that ... Robert ... would never have done. Or mayhaps he would have. He would surely be ... a son that Robert ... could have been truly proud of. 

The boy ... no, Gendry, .... Gendry is his name, has certainly made the Baratheon name proud. Certainly .... made me proud. 

Make us all proud ... Gendry .... Ba ... ra ... theon ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter 185; as they correlate with one another.


End file.
